


Trial By Shadow

by girahimu_sama



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Citronshipping, M/M, Post-Canon, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girahimu_sama/pseuds/girahimu_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rift remains long after Marik thought he'd banished the darkness for good. At a loss for what to do, he can only turn to the guidance of the spirit that's been constantly whispering in his ear. Thiefshipping & citronshipping. Post-canon. M rated for later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! First real Yu Gi Oh fanfiction that I've written! I'm a bit nervous about it because I only just got into the series a couple months ago but thiefshipping has really captivated me and I tried my best to write it. The entire fanfiction has been written already, I just need to proofread the chapters as I put them up. I find the characterization/plot development from Yu Gi Oh kind of strange because it differs from the manga, dub of the anime and sub of the anime, so I generally just take what I like best from each and work with it, mixed in with my own headcannons/bullshit. Anyways, here's the first chapter.

...

It wasn't the first time the unexplainable had happened. It likely wouldn't be the last.

The dream had started out like any other, innocent and unsuspecting. He actually thought he'd been awake at first, but he supposed that those were the worst kind. Deceptively normal until something slid out of place, something struck an off key, and the surrounding world revealed its true nightmarish colours.

Marik had gotten out of bed, rubbing at his eyes, drowsiness threatening to drag him back. He moved purely by routine, heading down the hallway to the bathroom. The early morning light spilled in like a fog, casting the apartment in a dim blue glow. He only dimly registered movement at the edges of his vision, mere shadows flickering along the walls, but when he looked there was nothing out of the ordinary.

The hallway had seemed to stretch, a slow creeping feeling of unease beginning to settle within him, like cold fingers trailing up his spine. His hand found the door knob, the click of it turning echoing around him as if to highlight how hollow the world truly felt. He could hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing as the bathroom door opened to reveal pitch darkness. None of the light from behind him seemed to penetrate it. It lay there, thick and heavy, like a wall.

It had suddenly become hard to draw breath. The nothingness before him seemed to reach out, beckoning him. He felt an all too familiar presence calling from within it, could see it take form. Dead eyes stared back at him, the darkness receding into a more recognizable shape of wild hair and a lanky figure. The walls around him turned to stone he'd become so familiar with in his early years, bearing down with the weight of the world above.

Marik had shot up in a cold sweat, chest heaving, glancing about frantically for any shadows that seemed out of place. He reached over to flick on the light at his bedside, even though a few other lights had already been left on. Even after all these years, the dark still set him on edge. The imprint of his other self's stare was still burned into his retinas, ever present, knowing, taunting. He jammed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he was sure all traces of that soulless leer was gone.

But the nightmare wouldn't be the only thing to shake him – the nightmare, at least, had a reasonable explanation.

“Bad dreams again, Marik?”

The voice without an owner spoke. Marik sputtered out of shock before regaining himself and pulling back into routine.

It wasn't real – that's what he would tell himself every time he heard it.

There was no way he was going back to sleep now. He cast a glance at the clock, which read 3:04, before shoving himself off the bed and heading for the kitchen despite how boneless his limbs felt.

Once in the kitchen he reached for a glass and pointedly jammed it under the tap, staring straight ahead. He didn't want to think about anything, he felt as hollow and dead as the world of his dreams had seemed. Sighing and hoping he'd catch a break this time, Marik raised the glass to his lips, the water soothing the sand papery feeling in his throat.

No such luck.

“Don't ignore me, you brat.” The voice hissed as though it were right in his ear. It carried a distinctly different presence than the one in his dreams, yet it was welcomed no more. Marik set the glass down and rested his hands on the edge of the counter top, leaning his weight forward.

When the voice had first spoken to him, it had been faint, barely a whisper and easy to brush off. Each time it had resurfaced it had sounded louder, stronger.

And now it rang perfectly clear, as though its owner were in the room with him, as impossible as that may have been.

Perhaps he was still sleeping. That seemed like a perfectly plausible explanation.

“I know you can hear me, don't pretend you can't.” The voice cut through his thoughts. Marik squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Between the reoccurring nightmares and his waking problem, all he wanted to do was duck his head down and pray until they let him rest.

“Come on, I'm not so bad, am I?” The voice said, a slight jaunt to its tone. “Can't be any worse than the other Mar-”

“SHUT UP!” The words exploded from the former tomb keeper before he could stop them. A heavy silence followed, and for a moment Marik thought that the voice had left, but it only seemed to be just as shocked as he was.

This was the first time Marik had ever acknowledged the foreign presence in his mind. He'd never given any verbal response to the voice before, but now that he had it was like he'd invited it further into his consciousness. Marik held his breath for a few tense moments, wondering just what it would do now that it knew it had his attention.

“Ah, there we go,” the voice said, a note of satisfaction tinting it. It sounded noticeably closer. “You can hear me, can't you? I knew you were just pretending you couldn't.”

Marik shook his head and pushed away from the counter and peered into the hallway, muttering under his breath. “No, I was just thinking I'd gone crazy.”

Padding back to his bedroom, he peered around, throwing a glance into the closet and then behind the door as though he expected to see a spectre there. “Where the hell are you?” Feeling ridiculous, he dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. “You're supposed to be gone.”

He could almost feel the source of the voice rolling his eyes. It felt as though it were standing behind him, but as far as he could tell he was completely alone in his house. “You won't find me there, idiot.”

Marik threw himself on the bed again, dropping his head into his hands. He couldn't believe this. Maybe he was still dreaming, though he felt very much awake now. “What do you want?”

The presence seemed to brush at his shoulder, hanging over him like some annoying ghost, but there was nothing there.

“So hostile, Marik. I thought we were _friends._ ”

Dropping his hands, Marik grabbed the blankets and threw him over himself as he laid down and curled up facing the wall.

“You thought wrong.”

“You really think going back to sleep is the best idea?”

Marik didn't reply, clenching his eyes shut and willing himself back to unconsciousness. It seemed like he was caught between a rock and hard place; nightmares plaguing his sleep and the voice haunting him while he was awake. He could only hope his sleep would be dreamless, a stretch of nothingness he could take refuge in, if only temporarily.

...

Marik opened his eyes, the deep blue expanse of the night sky stretching in every direction. He was standing in a place that didn't look like anywhere he'd been before, nor did it even seem entirely physical, yet it felt familiar.

And speaking of familiarity... he turned to see a figure perched atop a stone outcropping of the odd dreamscape, silvery hair glinting in the ambiance of the lighting. The spirit looked the same way he did the last time Marik saw him, the same sharpness to his features, the same gleam in his eye, right down to his manner of dress. It was like he'd never been absent.

“Bakura,” Marik said, in a bit of a daze. It seemed so strange to be in his presence like this, for they'd never even spoken since their partnership in Battle City, and that was when Marik... was different from who he was now. “Why... how...?”

The apparition cast him a dry look before rolling his eyes. His form seemed to waver, flickering as though he weren't entirely there. “You fell asleep again, you moron. Honestly...” Bakura muttered a few curses under his breath. He appeared to be anything but pleased.

“Why are you here?” Marik wasn't even sure where 'here' was. He knew he had to be dreaming, but if that were the case, why had Bakura never appeared in his dreams before?

“I was hoping for an answer from you, actually,” Bakura replied, dropping off of the outcropping and landing on the ground... only there was no ground. He appeared to stand on nothing, clouds swirling beneath him. Marik didn't bother questioning it. It was a dream, dreams never made sense.

“You're the one who's been speaking with me through my mind,” Marik shot back. It was clear that Bakura wasn't just a figment of his imagination. He could feel his presence now, like fingers prying into his head. “How should I know why you're here? You're supposed to be dead!”

“I am dead.” Bakura's tone was cutting and grim. “Well, actually, all I know is that I'm just not alive. The afterlife won't take me due to my association with Necrophades, and that door has closed for the time anyway. It's left me in somewhat of a... disjointed state.” He frowned as though something displeasing crossed his mind for a moment. “Let me tell you, limbo fucking sucks, but I heard a calling so I followed it.” He gestured with his arms to the space around them. “What do you know, I end up here in some recess of your mind.”

Marik narrowed his eyes. “I didn't recall your spirit, Bakura.”

“Well someone did!” Bakura said exasperatedly. “And between this and limbo, I find your mind a vast improvement.”

Marik wasn't convinced. He kept his suspicious gaze trained on Bakura and said nothing for a few long moments. This was too familiar, conversing with the other duelist like this. It brought back memories of a past version of himself that he didn't want to confront; the one that had pulled the strings, manipulating people from the background and screwing with their minds.

“Whatever it is you want, I won't help you with it.”

“Jumping to conclusions, are we?” A humourless smirk cracked on Bakura's face as he crossed his arms. “Tell me, Marik, what do you think I want?”

Marik scoffed and threw up his hands. “I don't know. Revenge on the pharaoh, and Yugi by extension. The Millenium Items. You're as predictable as they come.” A small touch of bitterness entered his tone without his realizing. “Though it's a little too late for that. He's gone now and the Millennium Items have been sealed.”

The look on Bakura's face was hardened, but his voice was surprisingly even. “I'm well aware. I wasn't planning on reviving my old grudges, if only because I _can't._ ”

Marik was genuinely surprised. “What?”

Bakura sighed, dropping his arms back to his sides. “Zorc was shredded by the light, and all that remains of me is a fragmented spirit. I don't care about that Yugi brat and I want nothing to do with him, and it's not like I _could_ do anything to him. I'm little more than a ghost now.”

Marik blinked and nodded slowly, taking in this new development. “Then how are you still...?”

Assuming Bakura was really here and he wasn't just vividly hallucinating, it left him wondering how the spirit could have found his way back, and why to him. It seemed to make sense for him to go to Ryou given that Ryou had been the owner of the Millennium Ring. Then again, there was a lot he didn't understand about Bakura.

Despite the fact that he knew the other should have been his enemy, he didn't consider him as such. He took a certain comfort to his familiarity, as though Bakura reminded him he wasn't alone in his trauma. But he was also an annoyance that could only bring trouble.

There was silence for a long while, as though Bakura were contemplating the circumstances of his own fractured existence.

“I don't want to die.” Bakura finally said, keeping his gaze turned away. “The pharaoh took everything from me. I don't even have a right of passage like he does. My soul won't be granted the same rest as his in the afterlife. The last thing I have is the will to live, and I won't let that be stripped from me.”

Something caught between pity and admiration resonated within Marik, the same sort of feeling one would get observing some terrible beast, cornered and fighting on its last legs. He remembered who it was he was talking to, a spirit thousands of years old, on the cusp of immortality. It caused a familiar sensation to twist in his stomach.

But he only offered him a wry smile. “Again, I think it's a little late for you.”

Bakura snapped his head back towards him, suddenly indignant. “I didn't come here to listen to your shit, Marik!” In the air there hung an unspoken question of 'are you going to help me or not?'

Marik sighed and sank to the ground – or what ground there was – bringing a hand up to the back of his head. This was all too much to take in. For several long moments he sat there and thought about what this could mean for the both of them before finally speaking again.

“I don't know what you want me to do.” He narrowed his eyes up at Bakura. “Nor do I see why I should help you. I don't trust you.”

“You could think of it like repayment. I had no reason to assist you when you were without a body, especially not after you endangered my host, and now our positions have basically been reversed.” Bakura said, inclining his head towards him. “You owe me this much, Marik.”

Jumping back to his feet, Marik rounded on him. “I don't owe you a damn thing!”

“Look, I know I haven't given you much of a reason to think I'm not up to something, but answer me this. What can I possibly do in my situation? I'm powerless and no threat to you.” Bakura insisted. “We've worked together before, Marik. We know each other well.”

Marik wanted to tell him to get lost, but if he hadn't been able to get rid of the spirit earlier, there was no way he could do it now. Bakura seemed firm in his stance; he wasn't leaving anytime soon. It was frustrating just being in his presence, it reminded him too much of how things used to be.

Instead, he simply glared at him until he decided to deflect the conversation into another matter. Forcing himself to relax – gods only knew this extra stress couldn't be good for him – he took another look around at the scenery.

“Where are we anyway? This doesn't feel like any regular dream.”

Bakura raised a brow, obviously nonplussed at the obvious change in subject. “I'm surprised you don't recognize your own soul room. I'm able to bring you here while you're unconscious since I currently inhabit it.”

“Soul room?” Of course, Marik should have known. But in fairness, the place looked barely recognizable to him, random outcroppings of various things scattered over an endless sky. “It looks...”

There was something unsettling about it, but he couldn't describe what exactly.

“Odd.”

“Looks like the goddamn place has been shredded.” Bakura said bluntly. “You really are a wreck now, aren't you?”

Marik threw him a glower. “You're one to talk.”

A tiny smirk curled the other's lips. “At least I'm not afraid of my own shadow.”

Marik's eyes widened for a moment, and then they narrowed dangerously at the intrusive spirit as his anger flared. Bakura knew, he knew what was plaguing him so relentlessly, causing him sleepless nights and endless guilt, and he openly taunted him about it.

“You fucking bastard.” Marik snarled, advancing on him, his voice rising in pitch. “How long have you been snooping in my mind? Spying on me?!”

Bakura seemed to realize his mistake, for alarm crossed his features as he backed up slightly, holding up his hands in apology.

“It wasn't intentional. Like I said, I was drawn here.” Marik's hand seized the front of his shirt, fisting in the fabric and jerking him forwards. He absently noted that Bakura was physical enough to grab, but he didn't bother questioning it if it meant making him thoroughly wish he hadn't opened his mouth. “It was a low blow, I admit. I'm sorry.”

Marik continued to seethe, his other hand balled in a fist and clenched at his side. He would have loved to smash it in Bakura's face, especially when he only knew the other was 'sorry' because he was after Marik's help, but a more rational part of him whispered that it would do him no good. He'd spent so long trying to purge himself of the hatred within him. How pathetic would he be if he let these darker feelings be stirred up by the likes of Bakura so easily? And so after a few tense moments, Marik released him.

“What's your plan?” Marik said coldly. “Or do you not have one?”

Bakura eyed him with an unreadable expression, but said nothing for a few moments, his hand resting over the fabric Marik had snatched at. Finally, he spoke again.

“Obviously I need a body of my own. I don't plan on spending the rest of my existence stuck in this hellscape. Of course, without the power of the Millennium Ring, this could prove to be a bit... complicated.”

Yes, if Marik had his own respective item it would probably be easy to get rid of the bothersome spirit. However, that wasn't what caught his attention about what Bakura had said.

“If you're planning on going after Ryou I won't allow it.” He said firmly.

After the ceremonial duel and the pharaoh’s departure, Ryou had opted to stay in Egypt to learn more about the history of the items. Marik had assumed it was because of how he'd largely been left in the dark while Bakura was in control and wanted to understand more about him and his motives.

It was somewhat of a strange experience on Marik's end, truly getting to know Ryou while he shared the same face as the Bakura he was so well acquainted with. That and the fact he'd been more than willing to let Ryou bleed in the past. It only added to his guilt, but Ryou didn't seem to hold any ill will against him and the two had become friends. He supposed he was lucky Ryou didn't hold grudges easily.

“Ryou...” Bakura quietly repeated to himself, as though he'd only just remembered the boy he'd possessed. When he noticed Marik leering at him he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Settle down, I couldn't do much to him in my state anyway... And speaking of which, I'm still wondering why you've brought me here.”

Marik's frown deepened, and he wondered if Bakura was intentionally messing with him. “But I didn't bring you here.”

“That concerns me.” An odd contemplative look came over Bakura's face, one that made Marik wary. Perhaps Bakura was really telling the truth, but if neither of them were responsible than how did he get here? “Because I couldn't have brought myself here on my own. You had to have summoned me somehow, but if you had no memory of it then there are a few possibilities. You recalled me unconsciously, or something else did it for you.”

Marik held his stare evenly, trying not to let it show how unsettled he was by all of this.

“Something else?”

“Something caused me to be drawn to you.” Bakura, who had put a hand to his chin and appeared to be pondering something deeply, let his gaze fall back on Marik. “And I think I have an idea of what.”

The former tomb keeper waited, expecting him to continue, but Bakura said nothing. Marik didn't like the look in his eye, but finally, he yielded. “Tell me.”

“Let's make a deal.” Marik glared at him again, so thoroughly not in the mood for playing this game with Bakura, but the other pretended not to notice. Bakura offered his hand, a gesture Marik was impressed he had the gall to do. “If you agree to help me, I'll tell you what I know.”

Scoffing, Marik swatted away the extended hand and crossed his arms. “Or I could just figure it out on my own.”

Bakura smirked and put his hands in his pockets. He knew he was wagering arguably the only piece of leverage he had on Marik, but it was a key piece. Marik knew it too.

“You could certainly try, but considering the fact that you couldn't even recognize your own soul room, I'd say you're not exactly off to a good start.” He said. “I, on the other hand, have firsthand experience with this whole business. If you'll let me, I can thoroughly investigate the matter. Not like I have anything else to do...”

He gazed out at the disjointed landscape as Marik stared at him hard, trying to figure out if it was worth it. He wouldn't lie, a part of him gained a certain thrill from this whole exchange, one that was familiar but not exactly painful. Even so, another part of him wanted to be cautious, wanted to abstain from slipping into his old habits. Making a deal with Bakura could be risky in a way that was far more personal than Marik was comfortable with.

Then again, what else could he do at this point? Live out his days hoping some other answer would reveal itself to him?

He only snapped out of his thoughts when Bakura addressed him again.

“Well, _partner?_ ”

Ignoring the mocking edge in his tone, Marik steeled himself, having made up his mind.

“Fine. It's a deal then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a shorter chapter. Minor appearances by Ryou and Ishizu. Ryou I find kind of tricky to write because he's so... vague in the series, but whatever, I tried. Marik and Bakura are also hot-headed idiots. What else is new.

Off in a secluded part of the museum and bouncing his knee, Marik stared fixedly at a wall. His eyes were dull as he sipped his coffee, the caffeine not doing much for him besides making his heart beat at a restless pace. The night hadn't been kind to him. The same went for many previous nights. It had simply become routine, something he dealt with – or at least tried to.

He didn't miss the looks thrown his way from the other officials – wary, cautious, distrustful. He was partially annoyed, partially impassive to it all. On one hand he was aware the extent of his crimes was still capable of making some suspicious of him. He'd expected it would also be something he would have to deal with on top of his guilt. But on the other hand, he'd been doing his best to show he was no longer on the wrong path for over two years now. He didn't feel the suspicion was entirely deserved at this point.

It wasn't like he really needed to work at the museum, it was just something to do instead of sitting at home. He'd often thought of leaving Egypt. He could. He had the money and the resources; running the Ghouls had left him more profit than he knew what to do with. During his time as their leader he'd established several legitimate connections. He funnelled whatever he could towards organizations dedicated to helping troubled youth in the hopes that _maybe_ he could curb someone out there from ending up like him.

But he didn't know where he would go, what he would do, or _if_ he could leave his remaining family behind. He'd dreamed of freedom all his life, but this – was this freedom?

He eyed the various plaques lining the wall, wishing he wasn't so lost to his thoughts. Thoughts about the past, which he tried so often to avoid, and thoughts about the future, which he tried and failed to pay mind to more.

If the past was the past than he should have been able to move on by now, but it was surreal to just pick himself back up and work towards his new life after all that had happened. He knew he'd grown, but at the same time it didn't feel like he was moving anywhere. He felt like he was stagnating.

He knew he'd made progress, but even so, something felt out of place, and it was an impossible feeling to shake.

And now he had nothing to contemplate but his current situation, the spirit living in his mind, a very piece of the past itself.

What did he do now?

“ _It's so odd to think it's all over,” a soft voice said beside him. Marik glanced to his side, the white haired boy not taking his eyes off of plaques though he wasn't really reading them. “Even though I never truly felt a part of it."_

_Marik said nothing for a long while, still unsure of what to make of his new acquaintance._

“ _Perhaps that was for the better.” He finally said. There were some things he himself wished he were never a part of. Though he wasn't sure if he would rather have been in the boy's situation, detached from it all and largely ignorant to his own demon. At least, that was what Marik assumed about him. It truly was hard to tell just how much Bakura had let him in on._

_Ryou turned to him. Marik didn't think he would get used to seeing that face without all the malice that had been previously occupying it._

“ _Marik, what do you think you'll do now? You know, now that you're not getting me stabbed or manipulating the Ring Spirit into using me as a meat shield?” He asked as simply as one would comment on the weather. Marik sputtered and jerked away from him, looking at him as if he'd grown another head. He searched for any contempt in the other's expression, any sign that the boy held any ill will towards him._

_There was nothing but a soft smile, doe-like eyes, and Ryou. Only Ryou._

Marik jumped a little as he saw someone approach from the corner of his eye, and he waved the memory away.

“Hello, Marik.”

He turned his head to see his sister standing there, hands loosely clasped in front of her.

“Oh hey, Ishizu,” He couldn't help the way his voice seemed to climb up a pitch, more reminiscent of his Namu persona. He couldn't help it, it was reflex by now, a habit he'd slipped into to keep Ishizu appeased. He loved her dearly but he didn't want her to glimpse at what he was really feeling for fear of complication.

“How are you today?” She asked. There was unmistakable concern in her expression. It wasn't uncommon for her to check up on him. Her perception was as sharp as ever. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping well?”

“Uh, yeah... more or less,” he answered. She'd likely figured out, or at least suspected, that something was bothering him by now. “I've just been busy with applications.”

It wasn't a lie per say, he was fretting about his education, but that wasn't entirely what was wearing him down. Ishizu smiled at him, but didn't look very convinced.

“Ah, well, it's good that you've been so devoted to your studies.” She said. “But please do try and take it easy.”

“I'm fine, really.”

It felt like a third presence had entered the conversation. Marik couldn't stop his expression from darkening as a whisper filled his ear.

“ _Are you trying to sound fake or does it just come naturally at this point?”_

He wondered just how long Bakura had been eavesdropping, wanting to wave away the annoying spirit, but there was no point because there was nothing there. Ishizu must have seen the look on his face for she looked like she was about to ask him what was wrong. Marik forced away his displeased expression, putting a hand to his head.

“Ah, sorry. I just have a bit of a headache... from staying up so late.”

Ishizu frowned. “If you'd like I can relieve you of a few shifts.”

He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for Ishizu to be covering for him; she'd done enough of that in her life already. “No, that isn't necessary. I promise.”

“If you're sure...” She nodded. “Well, I came to inform you of an excavation we'll be undertaking in one of the tombs. We may need your assistance so I'll have you on stand by."

“Really?” Marik looked up in surprise, somewhat taken aback that he was being trusted enough to help with a project like this.

“Though if you're not up to it I can have you taken off the project,” Ishizu went on, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don't want to overwork you, brother.”

“Like I said, I'm fine.” He managed a smile. “I'd be happy to help.”

“That's good to hear.” She smiled back at him and then moved to leave, giving him a small wave. “I'll leave you to your break.”

“See you later.”

Marik sat there in contemplation for a while longer. He stared after Ishizu, and then he stared at the plaques on the wall again for an indeterminable amount of time.

Abruptly he stood, an idea coming to mind. He sighed, regretting having told his sister he was up for helping; it looked like he would have to be taken off of the project after all.

...

Bakura hadn't gone anywhere, so when Marik returned to his soul room within the few days since he'd appeared here he was unsurprised to find him sitting atop the same outcropping. Having fully expected his approach, the spirit hopped off the stone to greet him.

“You look like hell.” He remarked as though Marik wasn't aware of the fact. “Nightmares getting worse?”

“Hard to say,” Marik answered dryly. “What can you tell me, Bakura?”

Bakura merely smiled and turned his shoulder to him. “And what have you done for me?”

Marik rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for this.

“The only lead I can think of is going to... your former host.” He frowned, not liking having to describe his friend in such a way. “Ryou. I've already arranged for it.”

“The logical approach.” Bakura nodded, casting his gaze up at the sky and chuckling to himself. “I'm sure he'll be thrilled about this.”

“Don't get any ideas.”

Bakura held up his hands, smirk not leaving his face. “Relax, I'm powerless, remember? Couldn't take him over, if I wanted to.”

Marik narrowed his eyes. “Your end of the deal.”

“Fine, I'll share with you a bit of information for now.” Bakura conceded. Marik growled softly at his flippant attitude but didn't say anything. “I'm sure you've already figured this just by appearances, but your soul has been fragmented. You're not going to like hearing this but a part of you is missing, and I have a feeling that you know what.”

The former tomb keeper’s eyes widened but. in truth, he wasn't surprised at all. His soul room, the nightmares, the perpetual feeling of something being off, something being missing, all of it made it obvious. But hearing it out loud made it worse, somehow.

“And what else...?” He barely heard himself speak, his mind working to process the information, but at a slow pace.

“As for how I got here... I can't be entirely certain but I do have a theory.” Bakura went on. “Obviously you don't want your bastard of an other half back, in fact I'm sure you spend a lot of your time actively fighting it, but your soul seeks that which is familiar to it. You recalled _me_ instead without even knowing.”

The gears in his head seemed to jam at the mention of his other self. He knew instantly that Bakura was right, he felt it. His soul gave a resonating pulse as if to confirm the truth, but his mind spat back denial.

“That's ridiculous!” He said, his voice rising. He'd seen _it_ die. There was no way _it_ could have a chance of returning.

But a part of him was missing.

A part he had no desire to get back.

He clutched at his chest with one hand and hunching over slightly. He was terrified. He couldn't think of anything else but that _thing_ waiting in the dark. What if he _had_ successfully recalled _it_ instead of Bakura?

“Marik, calm down,” Bakura sounded alarmed for some reason. He looked around warily before returning his gaze to the panicked male before him, but Marik wasn't paying much attention to him. “As I was saying... We have an established connection. You've accessed my mind in the past, and I in turn have allowed you to take refuge within my body. That is likely why my soul responded to yours.”

Marik clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to hear this anymore, didn't want to believe it. “That thing is _not_ my other half! It's not a part of me anymore!”

Bakura groaned in annoyance. “Did you catch any of what I just said?”

“I heard you!” Marik yelled, jerking his head back up to glare at him. The outburst must have surprised him because be was met with a bewildered expression, Bakura not speaking for several long moments.

Marik regained himself, slowly but surely. He straightened up, brushing his hair back over his ear. He was somewhat embarrassed about losing his bearings so easily. “What... what else do you know?” He said, much more calmly now.

Bakura continued to regard him, expression shifting into something more unreadable. It looked almost like worry, or caution.

“I think I should save that for after you have more to show for your end of the deal.”

Anger flooded through Marik. Did he think it was wise to toy with him like this? He was almost in the right mind to grab a hold of the other's shirt and jerk him close enough to hit again.

“You-!” He started hotly but Bakura cut him off swiftly.

“Look, anything I say will just make you more unstable and I don't want to deal with that right now. It's not like you can do anything about it at the moment.”

He was, unfortunately, right. He didn't know the full extent of the situation yet, but it appeared that if they wanted to resolve their problems, they would truly have to start working together. Marik took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, but he wasn't happy about it. The bitterness in his tone was palpable.

“I didn't think you cared about my state of being, Bakura.”

“I don't. What I do care about are my current whereabouts.” Bakura scoffed, throwing his arm out to gesture around himself. “When you're fucked up, this place is fucked up. At least wait until I get my own body before having a complete breakdown.”

“You're cruel,” Marik spat back at him, using anger to cover up his hurt. He didn't know why Bakura's words stung so much. “You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself. I don't know why I'm even helping you.”

It didn't sting as much as what came next. Bakura rounded on him, expression livid.

“I do what it takes to survive! Don't talk to me about cruel!” He stabbed a finger in Marik's direction. “Am I supposed to be impressed by your newly found moral stance, Marik? If I recall, you were so hellbent on revenge before that you used everyone from the pharaoh’s friends to _me_ to get to it! And that was before I ever saw a _shred_ of that darker half of yours emerge!”

Marik stared in shock, jaw slack, but before he could say anything, Bakura continued.

“Don't tell me that wasn't you back then. Your darker half may have had some influence over you, but it was _you_ that created him in the first place.”

Marik was dumbstruck with indignation. His mouth worked uselessly for a few moments, but no sound came out. What did Bakura think he was – stupid?

“You think I don't know that?! I live with that fact every day of my life!” Marik near shrieked, taking a heated step towards him. He shoved his fist to his own chest, right over his heart. Bakura just shook his head at him, causing his temper to rise even further.

“Then stop trying to distance yourself from him. Stop pretending you're so above it all, holier than thou, or whatever bullshit you're rolling with these days. It's likely just causing the rift in your soul to grow.” Bakura made a noise of frustration and shoved his hands into his pockets, turning away from him. “You make me sick.”

His last words caused Marik to shift from confrontational to confused. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.

“I make _you_ sick...?”

There was silence then. Awkward, crushing silence. The tension drained away gradually, leaving nothing but hurt in the wake of the blinding anger that had overtaken the former tomb keeper temporarily. He was normally quite good at containing his emotions around Bakura, it was part of their back and forth banter. It made him wonder why he'd gotten so worked up.

When Bakura spoke again, his tone was much lower.

“Wallowing in your own guilt. Accepting all the mistrust and hatred thrown your way, telling yourself you deserve it.” Bakura began to walk away, to put as much distance between them as they could in their shared mind.

“Maybe you do deserve it, but _gods_ you don't have to feel so damn sorry for yourself all the time.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... I might end up adding a chapter. I had an idea before but my memory is bad so I dunno if I'll end up doing it because I forgot what I wanted to write. Woops. If it comes back later I might put it in.

...

A little less than a week later and he was on the way to Domino City.

He reached the pier at around noon, nothing much having changed since he last saw it. It wasn't long before he was on his motorcycle, the humming of the engine and the wind in his hair setting him at ease.

The spirit in his mind had been oddly quiet, and yet Marik could feel his presence draped over him, as though he were constantly looking over his shoulder. He didn't know what to think about it. It didn't exactly bother him, at least not to the point of being distracting, but he wasn't quite comfortable about it either. He wondered if Bakura, for whatever reason, was nervous about seeing Ryou again. Nonetheless, he didn't say anything. Marik himself hadn't felt talkative since their last little spat.

His brother and sister had been a little surprised by his sudden decision to leave, but they didn't question him. He'd simply said he needed a break and they bid him off, respecting his space. He was thankful because be wasn't quite sure how he would have explained what was really going on or _who_ it was that he was assisting.

But he wasn't just doing this for Bakura, he was partially doing this _because_ of Bakura, someone only Ryou had dealt with so personally in the past. It was also a change of scenery and of pace, something he welcomed after spending so long in Egypt.

Even if it was the place where he'd last committed numerous atrocities.

Marik bit his lip, grip tightening on the handlebars as he drove. Perhaps it was just as Bakura said. He shouldn't be thinking about what he did in the past. There was no point in dwelling on it. What's done was done. He just wanted to move on with his life.

One thing he did feel guilty about was not being upfront to Ryou. He and Ryou did keep in contact relatively often, but he hadn't yet told him the reason for his sudden request to visit him in Domino and he didn't know how he was going to react.

He texted Ryou in advance once he'd reached his house, and Ryou was there to open the door and greet him before he'd even rang the bell.

“Ah, Marik! It's good to see you.”

“Hello, Ryou. It's good to see you too.”

Marik went through the motions of small talk as he and Ryou brought in his things, but all he could think about was the matter at hand. The spirit in his mind seemed to thrum in anticipation.

But Ryou, always sharper than he let on, cut right through the chatter as though sensing the other's anxiety.

“Marik, is something the matter?” He asked softly, concern in his voice.

“I...” Marik didn't know what to say. He sighed. Perhaps it was better to get right to the point. “Yes, actually, I do have something to tell you. Let's sit down and talk though.”

They went into the living room, sitting down at the table. No one was home, as usual, which was a relief in its own way.

Marik stared down at his hands, guilt eating at him. “Do you remember, several months ago when you stayed in Egypt for a while to try and learn more about the past?”

“Yes,” Ryou nodded slowly, expression growing more wary, “but what does that have to do with...?”

“I'm... sorry to spring this on you like this,” Marik said, cursing himself for being cryptic; it likely wasn't helping his case, “but I don't know what else to do.”

Ryou frowned at him. “I don't understand. What's wrong, Marik?"

“The spirit of the Millennium Ring isn't gone... he's... he's with me now.” Marik blurted, still not looking at Ryou, and then shook his head. “This probably sounds crazy but something bad is happening to me, and somehow he got involved, and I didn't know what else to do.”

He finally raised his gaze to meet the other's. It was hard to read Ryou's expression – he didn't quite look shocked, but he did look immensely worried. Marik couldn't tell for whose sake. “I figured that you had the most experience with him and...”

Ryou didn't say anything for a while. His lips were pressed together, eyes focused on something in the distance. He appeared to be thinking hard.

“... Where is he?”

“In my mind. He can't do much, he's weak and powerless now.”

At those words he felt a displeased tug at the edges of his consciousness, as though Bakura were mentally kicking him. Marik ignored it.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I just...”

“Can I speak with him?”

The former tomb keeper blinked. He expected anger or revulsion at having the spirit in such close proximity, perhaps for Ryou to tell him to leave, but he didn't expect this. Ryou was looking at him with a strange intent and Marik rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh...”

In truth, he wasn't sure how to comply. But a voice floated up from the back of his mind as though to answer him

“ _Let me have control.”_

Marik resisted the pull at first – it wasn't strong, but it was insistent. Bakura did need his permission to take over after all, not even remotely strong enough to do it by force. He didn't like the feeling, it reminded him all too much of darker memories, but he gave in eventually.

This wasn't his darker half, he told himself, it was only an annoying spirit trying to converse with his former vessel.

...

Marik seemed to black out, his expression growing vacant for a moment, but when he came back Ryou instantly knew he wasn't himself. His features seemed sharper, the look in his eyes colder – Ryou knew it well, he'd seen it staring back at him in the mirror many times before.

“You have nothing to say for yourself?” Ryou said, breaking the silence. “Nothing at all?”

“What is there to say?” Bakura spoke through Marik's mouth, his tone clipped. “I don't regret what I did if that's what you're wondering. And if you're expecting an apology, I'm sorry to disappoint you.”

“You use me, you turn my life upside down and then you just... disappear... only to show up more than a year later with no explanation.” Ryou said, gaze lowered. He looked sad, but there was an underlying current of tension in his demeanour, one that the average person probably wouldn't have picked up on. “I should have known you would find a way to return.”

“So what?” Bakura crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He threw a cocky smirk at Ryou. “It almost sounds like you miss me, my former host.”

“I just want to know _why_ ,” Ryou raised his head to shoot him a hardened look. It made Bakura uncomfortable but he never would have admitted it. “Why did you do it?”

“Because it was what I had to do. That's it.” The spirit inhabiting Marik's body grumbled. He didn't expect this kind of sentimentality.

“You never once tried to reach out to me, you were never upfront about your motives, you just... took what you wanted and left.” Ryou shook his head. What was that in his expression? Pity? Regret? Whatever it was, the spirit didn't like it.

“I needed a host and you fit the bill. Nothing more to it than that.”

“A host...” Ryou repeated quietly. “That's what you thought of me...”

“Don't be so down, landlord. I always made sure to keep your life intact. I would never have let you die.” Bakura dipped his head forward slightly. “I do take care of my vessel after all.”

Ryou just shook his head, still visibly upset, but then he shot a surprisingly bold glare at him. “What do you want with Marik? Are you planning on subjecting him to the same treatment?”

“No.” Bakura frowned. That was a completely laughable thought. _Marik_ was the one who'd been capable of controlling and manipulating anyone he wanted so callously. “And I'm not here by choice. Marik can explain the situation. He's allowing me to speak through him, but its exhausting maintaining control of his body.” He sank back into his seat, holding his arms out in a resigned shrug. “As much as I hate to say it, we may need your help.”

“I don't owe _you_ my help,” Ryou replied scornfully. Bakura was almost impressed; he didn't know his former host had such an attitude. Then Ryou's face softened and he directed his attention away from the spirit and his borrowed body. “But Marik _is_ my friend and I'll do whatever I can for him.”

...

Marik found Bakura in the usual spot in his mind, but he instantly knew that something about him was off.

For one, he hadn't seen Bakura sleep at all since this whole ordeal began, but here he was propped up against the stone. Marik assumed he'd been drained by the effort had taken to speak through him to Ryou. It was an anomaly he didn't bother questioning.

For two, Bakura's expression was twisted in extreme discomfort, and he twitched every so often. He didn't stir even when Marik approached, but after about a minute had passed, he finally appeared to wake up. He blinked slowly and then, realizing who had been watching him, glared at the former tomb keeper as though _Marik_ were the one intruding on his space.

“Now who's the restless sleeper?” Marik said, looking down at him. It probably wasn't the best way to break the tension that had built up between them, but he didn't care. “Though I admit it was nice not hearing you constantly hissing into my ear for a while.”

“Shut up,” Bakura muttered flatly, looking away from him.

“Touchy touchy,” Marik taunted, but when Bakura didn't shoot back with a smart remark he frowned. It wasn't like him at all. Shifting his feet, he spoke again after another long awkward moment passed. “Are... you okay?”

Bakura's eyes flitted back to him, suspicious and unsure.

“Perfectly fine.”

“Not likely,” Marik persisted.

“Marik...” Bakura growled in warning. He not only looked angry, but deeply uncomfortable as well, and it made Marik all the more curious to know what was going on with him.

“Look, it would be a lie if I said I wasn't concerned about you.” How could he not have been? Bakura shared his mindspace, and was probably the only other person on the same page as he was in relation to what he was going through. Common sense told him that if they were going to work together, they shouldn't be at odds, at the very least. More so than that, he found he really did feel... worried about the spirit, though he didn't feel that he should. Marik rolled his eyes. “So stop being such a dumbass and tell me what's gotten you so worked up.”

After scrutinizing him for a few moments longer, Bakura finally sighed and spoke up again. He looked more defeated and bitter than ever and it was just pitiful.

“You're not the only one who gets nightmares.” After seeing the expression his words brought on Marik's face, Bakura grew angry again and waved him off with a hiss. “Forget it. Like I said, I'm fine... Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Bakura picked up a bit of broken stone and chucked it into the horizon. “Like I'm some wounded animal. I hate it.”

“I'm sorry... really,” Marik said, wondering if Bakura even deserved his apology. He couldn't help being sympathetic to the other's apparent plight, not after what he'd gone through himself. “I'm not trying to impose on you or anything, just... you're always so guarded.”

“I have to be.” Bakura responded starkly. "Like you aren't?"

Silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Marik felt foolish for even asking, but he wasn't going to back down. The tables had turned and now Bakura was the one being pestered by a voice he couldn't seem to shake. “We share a mind at the moment, it's not exactly hard for me to pry into your mind and get the gist of what you're feeling.”

He wouldn't do that, however. He'd spent to long invading people's minds for his own gain. Those days were behind him.

Bakura gave him an odd look, as though wordlessly asking why he was so invested, but merely sighed in resignation.

“There's no point in talking about it.” Bakura spoke softly. “I've relived the same night in Kul Elna many times. There's nothing to say about it. Nothing changes.”

Nothing he said would probably make sense to Marik, but he didn't care about that right now. He could only think of the spirits of his village. A thought occurred to him, and he wondered if any of them had gotten the chance to pass on with the Millennium Items being sealed. He was certain that they hadn't gone to the shadows – it wouldn't make sense for them to. He certainly hadn't seen any of them in that odd plane of existence between life and death, but then again, he hadn't seen much of anything there.

His body went oddly lax as he realized he had no way of knowing for sure, now ineffectually existing in the land of the living. Actually, he couldn't even call himself there yet; he was but a discarded fragment lodged in another's soul.

They shared headspace, and it wasn't always easy to control what was filtered through and what wasn't. Just like Bakura had been subjected to the brunt of Marik's heightened emotions, Marik was now experiencing his, reliving the thief's suppressed memories. He didn't want to show Marik, but at the same time he couldn't help it.

_Flames licking at the open air, shadows dancing across stone like some macabre puppet show. The anguished cries of the villagers ringing in his ears, punctuated by the sizzle of flesh and the crackle of bone. Soldiers passing before the wall – don't find him, please don't find him – a mere glimpse of the fear contorted face of the victim they were dragging towards the pit, screaming-_

“Bakura...”

Marik shook him from his thoughts. When he returned his attention to him he was giving him that same look that pissed the spirit off so much.

Then he noticed that Marik had a strange far away look in his eye, and he got to his feet.

“Shit.” He grabbed the former tomb keeper by the shoulders and shook him. “I didn't mean for you to see that.”

Marik seemed to snap from his trance, but there was still a vacant quality to his expression. “I'm... sorry,” was all he said. Bakura waved him off with a grunt, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I can tell you more about your predicament if you want.” He said quickly. It was such an obvious change of subject, but he hoped Marik would have the sense not to question it. He hoped the dangerous look in his eye would deter him from any more needless prying – he did not want to, _could_ not, talk about his past right now.

It was a very long while before Marik gave a response, his eyes never leaving Bakura, but finally he answered with a small nod. Bakura sighed.

“Again I'm sure you're not going to like hearing this.”

“Just tell me.”

“Please try not to freak out this time.” The spirit sat down again, and this time Marik joined him, sitting a few feet away. “Your darker half isn't like me or the pharaoh. We are spirits that came from the past. He is a spirit that came from within. Ryou is not incomplete without me, that Yugi brat isn't incomplete without the Pharaoh, but for you... the circumstances are not the same.”

Marik closed his eyes and considered his words quietly, instead of lashing out like he'd done last time. In truth, none of it really surprised him at all. He might have known or at least had his suspicions in the back of his mind, but he didn't want to admit them to himself out of fear, so he remained ignorant. Hearing Bakura say it was like a wake up call.

“Like it or not, he was a part of you, a part that somehow gained sentience and broke off from the rest of you, but a part regardless. When you banished him you inadvertently destroyed a piece of yourself as well, and a rift has been growing ever since.”

Marik opened his eyes when the other paused. Bakura exhaled, his expression turning grave as he leaned towards the former tomb keeper. “But listen. The longer that rift remains open, the more potential there is to invite the darkness _back in._ ”

“... What do I do?”

“That's up to you.” Bakura leaned his weight back onto his arms. He looked strangely agitated. “You could do nothing, but I can assure you that wouldn't lead to anything desirable. I know I won't be here forever to patch your soul...”

Marik turned his attention back to the dreamscape before him, the horizon that seemed to stretch on forever.

He saw now. He couldn't keep running, he had to conquer his own darkness and take back the piece it had taken from him. But he saw the risks to that. What if it was too corrupted to salvage? What if by reclaiming it he reverted back to the way he was before? The possibility scared him. He put his head in his hands. Either he had to seek out the darkness and pry the piece of his soul from it, or the darkness would eventually find him again and rush in through the cracks.

“I can't imagine how you know so much about all this.” He said.

“Marik,” Bakura chuckled lowly, a shadow falling over his face despite the moonlight that shone directly down on him, a glazed quality to his eyes. “I invited the darkness inside a long time ago.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 aka babies discussing satanic rituals.

...

Laying on the floor with his feet propped up against the couch, Marik fiddled with a game piece from one of Ryou's RPG's. Books and other various things were strewn around him as he alternated between searching for a suitable ritual, and helping Ryou construct pieces. Days had passed and he wasn't having much luck on that first part. It was easier to create pieces for the game than it was finding a magical catalyst that would help him and the spirit – at least, one that wasn't complete bogus. The real question was how did he tell which were legitimate and which weren't?

He made an annoyed sound and chucked a book off to the side just as Ryou returned from going to retrieve something, some tome or another in his hand.

“I do have one idea that could work...” Ryou said. “I've never attempted this ritual before. It's really dangerous.”

Marik sat up, skeptical. He trusted Ryou's judgement though. Ryou seemed... eerily experienced with this stuff, and it had nothing to do with the spirit that had previously possessed him. “If it has a shot of working, I don't care how dangerous it is. I'm not going to live like this any longer.”

Ryou balanced on the balls of his feet beside him, holding out the tome and gesturing to one of the sections of text with his finger. “Ah... this one.”

Marik took the book from him. It felt old and fragile in his hands, like it was going to fall apart at any moment, and smelled deeply of aged paper and dust. He had trouble reading the text, as it was worn and faded.

“The Shadow Trials allow for an exchange between the living and the dead. By paying a small price, you agree to enter the Trials. You cannot leave once you've entered and you must not break any of the rules. If you attempt to do so, you will automatically lose and your soul will be cast into eternal darkness. You will suffer the consequences of the challenge you invoked.”

“A hammed up shadow game,” Bakura suddenly spoke up from the back of his mind. Marik inwardly rolled his eyes; of course he only showed up when he didn't have to be useful. “How will these 'trials' be of any use to us?”

“By taking part in these Trials you may compete for ownership of something once lost beyond the veil.” Whatever that meant. Marik scowled. He assumed 'the veil' meant beyond death, but did this book have to put it so poetically?

“Something once lost... implying that it had to have previously belonged to us...” Bakura sounded thoughtful. “Well that works for you, but I'm not so sure how this could benefit me.” There was a pause. “Unless...”

“Hm?” Marik inclined his head.

“I don't quite know what happened to my body after I died, but if there's anywhere it could be, it's the shadows. It sure as hell can't be in the afterlife.” He could almost feel Bakura smirk. “It looks like I do have something to compete for after all.”

“Your body?”

Bakura scoffed. “Yes, I had one of my own once you know.”

“Oh, it's just hard to imagine you not being a parasite.”

“Shut up, Marik!”

“Umm...” Ryou spoke up, causing Marik to remember that he wasn't the only person in the room, and that Ryou couldn't hear Bakura so it looked like he'd been talking out loud to himself. The former tomb keeper scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “It will take a while to prepare the ritual. It would be much faster if we still had the power of the Millennium Items, but...”

“That's fine.” Marik nodded, sighing. Indeed, things would have been much easier if he had the Rod, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Bakura snorted. “You're wasting your time. Without any sort of magical conduit, we won't even be able to reach the shadows. We may as well go and roll around in sage or some shit for all the good it will–“

Marik narrowed his eyes. “Yes, please, continue being _so_ helpful, Bakura.”

Bakura growled back. “You didn't let me finish. My soul still contains a moderate amount of _heka_. I can't use it myself since I don't have a body, but I can transfer some of it to Ryou and _then_ he can start the ritual.”

Marik's eyes widened at the mention of the ancient magic. He turned back to Ryou, who was staring at him quizzically. “What did he say?”

“That he'll have to transfer some of his _heka_ to you in order for the ritual to work.”

Ryou looked interested at that, seemingly not at all put off with toying with dark forces.

Marik nodded. “I'd like a little time to prepare myself before venturing into the shadows.”

“Your deck could probably use preparation too,” came the snide mutter of the spirit.

“What's that supposed to mean?!” He hissed back.

“I'm gonna go and collect supplies.” Ryou hurried to the door. He cast a serene little smile back at him. “I'll see you two later.”

Ignoring the voice in his head, Marik turned his attention back to his friend, a suspicious look on his face. “You seem to know an awful lot about this kind of thing. Ryou.”

Ryou just answered with a wink before he disappeared out the door. There was something unnerving about it, but Marik merely brushed it off. That was just how Ryou was, mysterious and coy, liked to keep people guessing.

“Well, he has tried to exorcise me a few times...” Bakura interjected, sounding amused in a really terrible way. “Of course, it never worked.”

Marik carefully closed the tome and set it off to the side. He then started on tidying up the living room, picking up the books and laying them in a pile, sweeping the game pieces and parts aside.

“There is one thing that concerns me...” He said, sitting back against the couch and turning over a small figurine in his hand. It was featureless, a slate. He absently ran his fingertip over its blank face. “You said Zorc was destroyed, and to my knowledge he was the embodiment of the shadows. How are these Trials supposed to work if the darkness is gone?”

“How the hell should I know? I'm not a goddamn encyclopedia. We don't even know if these 'Trials' even exist at all.” Bakura shot back. “There is one thing I'm certain of though, the darkness will never truly be gone even if Necrophades is. Where do you think he was born from?”

Marik supposed he had a point. He tapped the blank game piece against his chin in contemplation.

“Come on, you're naive if you think it can truly be gotten rid of.” Bakura went on, an edge of bitterness entering his tone. “You can chase it away with light, cut it up into millions of tiny pieces and scatter them across time, but it will still be there. Even if it takes another thousand years, a million years, it will always come crawling back.”

Marik's hand stilled, and he simply stared into space, the other's words striking a personal note inside him. There was silence for a long while, and then Bakura's voice filled the emptiness, nearly causing Marik to jump.

“Bottom line is, I'm getting my body back from whatever Hell it was sent to, because I know for a fact that it, and your other half, sure as hell weren't laid to rest in the afterlife.”

...

“A doll?!” Bakura ranted. “You must be joking!”

The thing dangled from Ryou's grasp - little beads for eyes, stiff white fabric arranged into a likeness of the thief's hair, a scar sewn into its brown skin and a tiny red cloak around its shoulders. Ryou held it buy its stumpy arms, making it dance a little for good measure. Marik threw a hand against his mouth in a failed attempt to refrain from laughing. He wasn't sure what was funnier, Bakura's offended reaction or the big-headed plush of the infamous Thief King.

“This doll is only a substitute. If you succeed, and the ritual works out, then it will be switched with your body in the shadows.” Ryou smiled cheerily as though he could sense the spirit growing more indignant, now addressing Bakura directly. “I don't know why you're so upset. Though I should warn you, since I am the only one who can do the ritual, ownership of the doll goes to me. See this string?” He indicated a piece of red thread tied around the dolls throat, then he held up a separate identical piece of it. “It acts like a 'rope' between our realm and the shadows.”

Bakura growled. “What's the point of that?”

Ryou's tone turned surprisingly serious. “Because at any time I can revoke the ritual and send you back to the shadows. All it takes is one pull. Got it?”

Stifling his giggles, Marik nodded his head once. “Sounds reasonable to me...” Bakura spat out a few choice words and then his presence receded back into his mind. Marik felt a subtle pain, as though Bakura's temper was somehow translating into his physical being. He put his hands to his head and groaned. “Ugh... the idiot's giving me a migraine...”

Ryou set the doll down on the table and turned back to the former tomb keeper, expression somber.

“Marik...” he started uneasily, “you know that if you don't succeed, so much more than your life is on the line, right? For this ritual to work, something must be offered up to invoke the Shadow Trials.” Ryou looked away. “Offering up yourself means that if you lose the game...”

“My darker self can take control of my body,” Marik finished. “I know, and I won't let it happen. I plan on winning.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Marik sighed. He knew he couldn't continue like this, nightmares plaguing his sleep, the ever present feeling that something was out of place following him around like a shadow. Constantly regulating himself, fending off his own fears, pretending like everything was alright when _he_ wasn't alright. No, if there was a way to resolve this once and for all... or at the very least, make him feel like he wasn't constantly on the verge of coming apart. If there was a way to repair his soul, as Bakura had put it, then there really was no other option.

“I have to.”

...

It was odd existing as it were. He'd slept so long within the Ring, thousands of years with nothing but the darkness surrounding him, seeping into his soul and melding with him to be reborn as something new. But now the darkness had been purged from him, leaving nothing but a tarnished, painfully human, spirit.

Bakura truly didn't know what to make of himself. He had the memories of the Thief King, the mind, the personality, but it felt as though he'd been filled to the brim only for his insides to be scraped away. Something had been taken, something was missing, even though it had never truly belonged in the first place.

He wasn't the Thief King anymore, but he wasn't Zorc either. What remained of him now? What could he call himself?

Even if he did get his body back, then what? It was times like these where Bakura came to realize he never really was good at planning out things. In hindsight, he hadn't really been sure what he was doing in Duelist Kingdom. He'd just gone with the flow of things, waiting in the shadows for opportunities to advance in his personal quest for the Millennium Items. In Battle City he hadn't had much of a plan either, and working for Marik then hadn't gotten him very far...

He wasn't sure why he'd been so ready to assist Marik. True, his mission had compelled him to, but he'd put a lot more on the line than he'd thought himself willing to, and it hadn't worked out very favourably for him. Beyond the promise of the other items, perhaps he'd seen a bit of himself in Marik, both of them being wronged by the Pharaoh. Perhaps he'd been interested in what it was like to share a common foe.

But as Marik had said before, the Pharaoh was gone now, and that left both of them... where? He knew Marik wasn't going to stay at his job at the museum forever – everything about him screamed freedom. But would they simply part ways after their shared task was through?

He tried to think of the future but his thoughts just kept coming back to-

Marik.

Marik, who had challenged him from the moment they'd first met, threatened him, stood before him as someone he could only call an equal. Who'd been ruthless in his mission, regarding himself with a sort of godhood and extravagance that Bakura found himself impressed at. Marik who, all things considered, was now just as lost as he was.

“Idiot...” Bakura muttered under his breath, his head sinking into his hands, fingers twisting in his own hair. He wasn't even sure who he was referring to, nor was he entirely sure why he was suddenly so irritated. As if on cue, he felt a presence behind him. He knew it could only be the source of his plight.

After all, Marik was ultimately responsible for pulling him out of limbo, leaving him with all these questions, all this inconclusiveness.

“You seem awfully broody. Are you really that upset by the doll thing?” The voice said from behind him. Bakura didn't spar him a glance. He didn't move from his spot on the stone outcropping either.

He didn't care about that matter anymore. So long as the ritual worked, Ryou could have his little leash. “What do you want now? I'm afraid I've told you all I can about what's been happening to your soul.”

There was a pause, Marik apparently taken aback by the question.

“Am I not allowed to simply check on the spirit staying in my mind?”

“No,” Bakura answered dryly, suspicious now. More seriously, he went on, “But why would you want to? I thought you were repulsed by me. I figured I reminded you of how things used to be for you.”

Marik came into his field of vision, now standing beside him. He didn't say anything for a long while, but then he sighed and lowered himself into a sitting position, legs dangling off the ledge, elbows rested on his knees. He wasn't looking at Bakura.

“These past months haven't been easy for me.” Marik frowned as though unsure of what he was trying to say. “I don't know... You might bring back memories of what I've done in the past but like you said, I should be confronting and accepting them, not constantly beating myself up over what I did, not shying away from it. The past is the past after all. I can't change it.”

Bakura kept his eyes trained on him but didn't say anything.

“But more than that it's been lonely. People are still wary of me. I do have Ishizu and Rishid but even so... I don't get much contact outside of them.” Marik looked even more troubled now, fiddling with his hands absently. “I had Ryou around for a while, after the pharaoh’s Ceramonial Duel. He stayed in Egypt for few months before he had to return to Domino. He's really the only other person I can call a friend.”

“Is that what you're looking for? A friend?”

Marik snorted, lowering his head for a moment. Bakura cocked an eyebrow at him. He couldn't decide if the notion annoyed or intrigued him more – if it was indeed what Marik was asking for.

“I think we already do qualify as friends, in a really messed up way,” Marik said. Bakura couldn't really argue. “But tell me, what exactly is your plan for after you gain your own body?”

Bakura stiffened, eyes widening before he regained his composure. Had Marik been snooping on his thoughts? He growled in his throat.

“Why does it matter?”

Marik gave a small smirk at how indignant he looked, which only irked Bakura even further. “It was only a question. I was just wondering if you were going to stick around afterwards or go your own way.”

Bakura searched his face for any signs of dishonesty. Both of them had agreed to give each other's thoughts privacy, but he wouldn't put it above Marik to break that rule. It seemed all too convenient that he'd imposed that question right after Bakura had been mulling over the very same topic.

Finally he answered in all truthfulness. “I'm... not sure.”

It was almost incomprehensible being mortal again, having the chance at a normal life. It seemed so mundane and he was above it all – _wanted_ to be above it all.

Marik stared back at him, doing the same thing as he was – trying to work him out. He wondered if Marik was thinking something along the same lines as he was. He could probably pry into his thoughts if he wanted to, but where was the sport in that?

Bakura smirked at him suddenly. “So, do you really want to beat your other self?”

Marik raised a brow. “Of course I do.”

“Let me see your deck.”

“Evasive as ever.” Sighing, Marik rolled his eyes and pulled out a stack of cards. They weren't his actual deck, as nothing in his mind was truly physical, just a mental representation of them. Bakura took them into his hands nonetheless, fanning them out so that he could scan over them.

“I don't know if you've noticed, Marik, but your deck is designed around summoning the god cards,” he said, eyes sliding back to the other male, “which you no longer have.”

“Do you think I'm stupid?” Marik said irritably. Bakura just grinned back at him in a silent question of 'do you really want me to answer that?' “I was planning on tweaking it anyway. I haven't played since...”

_Battle City._

Bakura nodded slowly.

“I've never even seen you actually play...” He said. Sure he'd seen Marik's darker half play, but it wasn't the same thing. “So, what, you were just going to stroll into the Shadow Realm and duel your double despite not having played in years?”

“I never said I wasn't going to practice.” Marik snapped back. And then he smiled sweetly and took a sarcastic bow. “But please, teach me the ways of the duelist, oh mighty Bakura.”

“It's not a bad deck,” Bakura smirked, “but I know of a few ways to strengthen it.”

...

“What am I supposed to be looking for?”

It was a little past 10am on a Saturday. The motorcycle travelled down the road, heading towards the shopping district of the city. Ryou was out doing errands of his own, leaving Marik to his own devices. Practice. Practice was what Marik needed, but he was unsure of where to start. Not to mention a little nervous about taking a dip back into the duelling scene.

Bakura's voice was a whisper in his ear, audible even over the wind rushing by them.

“ _This is Domino City. Can't be hard to find some idiots duelling or a local tournament or something. Fuck, Duel Monsters may as well be currency here.”_ If the spirit had a physical body, he would probably be rolling his eyes. _“It's ridiculous honestly. Could probably find whores in the back alley ready to exchange a card game for blowing y–”_

“Okay, I get the idea.” Marik wrinkled his nose at the spirit's crass choice of words. He scanned the streets, eyeing the various posters announcing game tourneys amidst other advertisements – some out of date, some not.

Stopping for caffeine – he was regretful about the habit, but he couldn't seem to function without it – he felt a pull at his mind.

“ _That should do.”_ Bakura said, and Marik felt his attention being jerked to the side. A flier plastered to a nearby poll announced a Duel Monsters tourney, no pre-registration necessary, happening at noon.

“Central Mall? That's not far.” Marik noted, scanning over the flier. It appeared to be a reoccurring thing that happened every weekend, not big, casual, a place where people could just go and stay sharp for the bigger tournaments. He was in luck, preferring it that way over a big spectacle.

At noon he headed over to where he needed to go. He didn't need to pull up a map or ask for directions, having memorized the layout of Domino when he'd first arrived for Battle City. He'd taken the information from some of his Ghoul's minds using the Millennium Rod – and everything he'd mentally stolen with the Rod still remained with him to this day. He didn't miss the Rod's power – the very notion of that kind of control disgusted him now – but it had been a very useful tool.

“ _Hopefully none of the brats will be there...”_ Bakura really did not sound pleased as Marik dismounted his bike and headed into the mall. The spirit was clearly agitated.

“This city is big. I doubt the King of Games attends every single local tournament. Calm down,” Marik mentally replied; it would look weird if he started talking out loud to himself here, surrounded by people. Internally, the idea of running into Yugi or someone close to him made him nervous. He didn't have a problem with Mutou, he just didn't have the energy for a reunion right now of all times. He'd probably leave at the first sign of tri-coloured, star-shaped hair.

Bakura grumbled but said nothing more. Marik found the tournament, hosted off in the far Eastern side of the mall in some gaming store. There were two Duelling Arenas set up there along with a decent amount of people. Marik breathed a sigh of relief when no familiar faces revealed themselves.

He wrote his name down and was sorted into the first bracket – the first and second brackets would be played on tables, the third and onwards would be using the arenas. He went and sat down to face his first opponent, a bit unsteady. This was just a simple game, he reminded himself, nothing at stake, no darkness awaiting him if he lost.

His first game was a little unsteady. Bakura didn't say much except for the snide comment he would give about Marik's strategy every once in a while. Marik grit his teeth to keep from saying something unsavoury out loud.

“ _What's the matter? Not a fan of someone peering over your shoulder and being completely unhelpful while you duel?”_ Bakura sneered. Marik made a 'tch' noise but gave no response, instead focusing on the game. He may have been a bit rusty and distracted, but after a while he snapped out of it and ended up winning.

The second game came a little easier for him, but by the time it had finished he noticed he was gaining some unwanted attention. A few people's gazes lingered on him when they thought he wouldn't notice, but when he looked they would turn their heads away. He figured he must have stuck out since this was a reoccurring tourney and he wasn't a regular. At least, he hoped that was the only reason he was receiving attention.

One duelist in particular – a teen that couldn't have been over a year younger than he was – always seemed to have his eyes on him. When he entered the third round and stepped into one of the arenas, he noticed the duelist in the other arena. Over the course of the entire duel Marik would sometimes catch his eye. He tried to ignore it and focus on the game. Somewhat of a crowd was gathering, the holograms making the duels become more of a spectacle.

During the break, Marik left to find some place to eat despite his lack of appetite, but when he returned he found himself up against the duelist that had been watching him. Marik stepped up onto the platform, which raised up in preparation to start the duel. He placed his deck down onto the designated space on the panel before him, a bad feeling coming over him.

There names and scores flashed onto the panel. The duelist's eyes widened before he looked across the field to the former tomb keeper in recognition.

“Marik...” He said. He was quiet at first, but then he spoke loud enough for his voice to carry over the arena. Marik cringed as several people looked over. “Wait, I know you. You're Marik Ishtar.”

Marik rubbed his forehead sheepishly, glancing off to the side. “I... yes...?”

The duelist's face lit up and he pointed at him. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere. You were the runner up in the Battle City tournament a few years back! You took on Yugi Mutou!”

A ripple went through whatever spectator had gathered to watch. Marik's gut twisted at the mention of Battle City and the room began to feel very small despite it actually being quite spacious.

“You mean that guy with the crazy hair and the cape?” Someone said.

Marik's breath caught in his throat and he leaned onto the panel, feeling like he was about to vomit. He was so stupid, of course Kaiba would have the tournament televised. There existed video evidence of his dark half, broadcasted for the world to see. He suddenly had to leave.

“Yeah but I think he ended up throwing the match.” Someone else said. No one seemed to notice the change in his demeanor until snatched his deck back and hopped off of the platform.

“You're mistaken. You're thinking of someone else.” He snapped, a strange feeling of detachment sinking over his consciousness. The duelist moved to block him in protest. “Get out of my way.”

“The semi-finals are about to start, you can't just–“

“I said _get out of my way_. I forfeit.” Marik shoved him, hard, and blazed past the crowd without looking back.

“Come on, man!”

Marik ignored him. He didn't remember leaving the mall, he didn't remember getting on his motorcycle either. One minute he was there and then the next he found himself at a park. He sat down at a bench, face in his hands, trying to calm himself.

If Bakura had said anything during the whole ordeal, Marik didn't hear him. He felt the other spirit now, could almost picture him setting next to him on the bench, but no visual evidence existed.

“ _Marik...”_ Bakura spoke softly. Marik half expected him to be annoyed that he'd left when he was only really starting to get warmed up, but the spirit didn't admonish him for it.

“That was stupid, I know.” Marik sighed, his face growing hot with embarrassment. He couldn't believe that had just happened, that he'd lost control like that. “I don't know what's wrong with me. I was doing so well too.”

He wasn't even sure whether he was referring to the tournament or his life in general. When was the last time he'd allowed himself to publicly break down like that?

“ _I don't blame you. That place was crammed with morons, I would have left too.”_ Bakura grunted. Marik couldn't tell if the spirit was just stating his thoughts or genuinely trying to placate him. It was hard to tell.

“I really am pathetic.” Marik was thankful there weren't very many people around. The park was peaceful and quiet and the fresh air allowed him to clear his thoughts.

“A little bit.” Bakura sounded rather neutral, so the glare Marik responded with was more half-hearted than anything.

Bakura grew quiet for a moment, but when he spoke again, his voice was tense with alarm. _“Shit, look over there.”_

 

Marik did, quickly spotting a familiar pair of people – a girl with cropped brown hair and a blond boy walking across the park, the former tomb keeper directly in their line of vision. He averted his eyes quickly and ducked his head back down. He couldn't seem to catch a break.

“That's Anzu and Jounoichi,” he internally panicked. They were some of the last people he wanted to see at the moment. He wondered if it would look weird if he just got up and left, and then cursed himself for being such a coward. “Ugh, this is ridiculous! They're just people!”

“ _Hey, I'm not stopping you from facing them, but we both know that's really not what you want to do right now.”_ Bakura's voice came. Marik hated when he sounded halfway rational. Had the pair even noticed him yet? He pulled his hood up to cover his bright golden hair. _“Yes, pulling your hood up makes you look totally inconspicuous.”_

“Shut up!” Marik hissed back, booking it before he could second guess himself. Anzu and Jounoichi appeared to be too busy talking to each other to notice him. Their chatter picked up within earshot, but Marik only walked faster away from them. He cut through the trees, heading back towards the parking lot where his bike was.

He stopped to lean against a trunk, pulling his hood back down – what few people there were around him were giving him strange looks. For some reason he found himself chuckling as he looked back to see if he'd been followed.

“ _Why are you laughing?”_

“The sheer absurdity of the situation.” Marik said, shaking his head. “Avoiding Yugi's friends even though I've done nothing wrong.”

Bakura gave a little snort of his own.

“ _Let's get out of here.”_

“For once I agree with you.”

...

Marik sat at the window of the guest room, fiddling with a game piece in his hand when Ryou returned. It was late by that point. Marik assumed he'd been out with his friends and he felt a subtle pang of jealousy. Not because of the friends themselves, but the fact that it was so _easy_ for Ryou to take part in simple activities. Marik always felt _wrong_ when he tried to do such things. Try as he might, he could never fully shake the feeling.

“Jounoichi tells me he and Anzu went to check out the tournament happening at Central and apparently someone named Marik Ishtar was entered.” Ryou said as he appeared at the doorway, and Marik's hand stilled. “But he walked out partway through.”

The former tomb keeper raised his arms in a slow shrug. “What a... coincidence?”

“I told him you were only in town for a day and you're leaving tonight.”

Marik smiled with chagrin. “Heh... thank you.”

Ryou crossed the room, looking at the floor as he did so.

“I don't know how long you want to wait to do the ritual...” He said, stopping before Marik. “It's dangerous but... putting it off could only make it worse too.” There was unmistakable sadness in his expression and he shifted uncomfortably, like he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to. “I just...”

Marik suddenly found Ryou's arms wrapped around his shoulders in a hug. He stiffened at first, almost in the right mind to push him away, but he allowed himself to relax. The boy's boundless selflessness caught him off guard sometimes.

“Ryou...”

“Oi, don't forget I'm here too.” Bakura spoke up in the back of his mind. “You're too soft, landlord...”

“It's strange... it's become more apparent to me over this past week but I can sense his presence, if only barely.” Ryou said close to Marik's ear. “It's odd not having him attached to me.”

Marik smiled, hands coming up to Ryou's shoulders and gently pushing him back. “He says you're too soft.”

Ryou gave a small laugh. “That's more or less expected.”

“You don't have to worry about me.” Marik' brows furrowed together as he added on in his mind. _'You shouldn't be worrying about me.'_

After a moment, Ryou pulled away and headed out of the room, throwing one last look over his shoulder as he went.

“Well, I'm going to go and work on my campaign for the rest of the night. I'll see you two tomorrow.”

Marik stared after him, beginning to fiddle with the game piece in his hands again absentmindedly.

“I'm tired, can we go to sleep?” Bakura whined suddenly. Marik raised a brow and set the piece down on the window sill.

“You don't have a body, how can you be tired?”

“Shut up, Ishtar. I just am,” Bakura snapped back. “Maybe because I'm attached to you and you socialized far too much today.”

That made Marik stop and think about the day. Bakura had been lurking around in his mind for who knew how long but he'd never truly felt _present_ until now. The spirit may as well have been with him throughout the entire day in physical form.

It was, well... the closest thing Marik could call actual company in a while.

He went over to the bed, flopping down onto it and staring at the ceiling. Despite himself, he was actually feeling pretty calm.

“Speaking of today, with you genuinely involved, it was...”

“If you say 'like a date' I will kill you.” Bakura growled. The former tomb keeper's brows climbed up his forehead.

“I was going to say 'different' but that's some interesting projection you're doing.” Marik said with a smirk, rolling onto his stomach and resting his chin in his hand. He traced mindless patterns on the sheets with the fingers of his other hand. “Besides, not that you're in a position to, but if you killed me you'd have lost your chance to get your body back.”

“Whatever, I was being facetious.” Bakura snapped back. It was amusing imagining him get flustered, the colour rising to his pale complexion. “Maybe I'll get my body back and _then_ kill you.”

Marik's grin stretched. It came easy to tease, to joke around. It took his mind off of other, more dire matters.

“Not even a second date first?”

“Goddammit, Marik.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is maybe about the halfway point of the story? Heh. I kind of feel bad for how Yami Marik is treated in this but well, he sort of gets closure? The best sort of closure I can give for him in this context anyway. I want to write something featuring him and expanding his character but he is very tricky to do.

...

They put it off for another week. Marik didn't go out to seek any more tournaments, practising with Bakura in the shared soul room instead. He also practised with Ryou, the boy's Occult deck providing a welcome challenge.

The Shadow Game he was invoking allowed him to choose the challenge he would undertake. He chose to duel his other half, dreading the thought but figuring it would only be fitting to close things once and for all. Bakura, on the other hand, didn't actually know what his challenge would be for him. He only wanted his body back. As a result, he didn't have to duel, but he did help Marik hone his skills, if only because he was bored.

Still, Marik knew he couldn't put it off for too long.

As though the darkness could sense his willingness to challenge it, his nightmares seemed to worsen. He woke up Ryou several times already, embarrassingly enough. He'd jerk awake to find the boy sitting on the edge of his bed, expression pensive. Ryou would reach out to stroke his hair and draw him in for a hug, and he didn't mind that, but once his hand drifted too close to his back Marik would pull away. Some part of him wanted the comfort, but the majority of him couldn't take it.

It had gotten so bad that he was starting to black out during the day. Night terrors always left him exhausted even though he was technically sleeping at the time. The exhaustion was one thing, but experiencing gaps in his memory was another. One day, Bakura had told him that he'd gone completely unresponsive for ten minutes. Marik couldn't for the life of him remember what he'd been doing, and it scared him. It scared him because these experiences weren't unfamiliar. He'd had something similar breaks in consciousness happen when he was younger and his darker half was still a part of him. It was then that he decided they would do the ritual the next day. He was just so tired and he didn't want anything more severe to happen.

Marik lay in bed that night, tossing and turning. The sheets were too hot, but if he took them off he was too cold. The lights were on, but the shadows of the room still seemed to creep up on him. He was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't find him. He wasn't sure if he wanted it too either.

He sighed in annoyance, turning onto his back and staring hard up at the ceiling. He eyed the patterns in the paint, and then glanced to the clock for the umpteenth time. He was thinking too much and that was his problem – he didn't want to think anymore.

One of his hands rested on his stomach, his other arm thrown above his head. His eyes flitted to the side for a moment, and then his palm gave an innocent sweep upwards, hiking his shirt up and exposing a few centimetres of skin. His fingers brushed against the waistband of his nightpants, the already loose drawstring tempting him. He exhaled another sigh – less annoyed this time – and reached downward to rub against the warm skin beneath.

Taking himself in hand, he began to stroke, his eyes falling shut. But before he could really get into it, his eyes snapped open again and he withdrew his hand, turning back into his side like he was hiding from an intruding housemate. He stared straight ahead in horror, berating himself for forgetting he was never truly alone. His entire body felt hot now, and it wasn't because of arousal.

Maybe he'd gotten lucky and Bakura hadn't seen anything. The spirit hadn't spoken up to make fun of him, yet, but it brought forth a new question, one that made Marik want to hide his face in his hands. What if Bakura had seen him... touch himself before? He truly didn't know exactly _how_ long the spirit had been floating around his consciousness before he'd acknowledged his presence a mere few weeks ago... Oh gods no.

Marik pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was he even thinking about this? More importantly, why hadn't Bakura started ridiculing him yet?

“Bakura,” he mentally called out, his voice cautious. He felt around in the conscious level of his mind, searching for a second presence, but he didn't pick up anything. “Bakura,” he said again, a little louder this time. There was no response from the spirit so Marik had to assume he was resting in the shared soul room.

He relaxed a bit, his heard still a faint throb in his throat, feeling like he'd just dodged a bullet. It looked like Bakura wasn't currently with him after all. Maybe...

He bit his lip, ghosting his hand over his clothed, half-formed erection. It wasn't like he'd had time to lately, and he knew he really should get some sleep...

Marik shoved his hand down his pants and began stroking again. He tried to shut off his brain, focusing on his breathing instead. Just breathing, in and out, and the hand jerking him off – that was all he needed to think about. Not shadow magic, not the very real danger he was going to be walking into, not Bakura–

He gave a soft whine in his throat. No, he definitely wasn't thinking about Bakura _now_. Not the thief with his head between his legs, snowy hair tickling Marik's thighs as his mouth swallowed his cock. And Marik certainly wasn't thinking about how it was a better use for the thief's lips than the way he usually ran his mouth like a prick. Definitely not.

The image was only in his head for a moment, but it sent a jolt of arousal through him and – _Ra, what was wrong with him._ Then the next moment he couldn't help but notice the resemblance between Bakura and his former host, and that he may as well have been imagining Ryou sucking him off instead. He _really_ didn't know how to feel about that.

“What do you want, Marik?” A voice interjected before any sort of shame could set in. Marik jumped like he'd been stung, withdrawing his hand in record time.

“What?” He blurted.

“You woke me up. I heard you calling.” Bakura's voice floated through his consciousness groggily. Marik tried to get a handle on his nerves and not look as suspicious as possible.

“Oh, I... uhh...” Marik said, feeling like an idiot. It didn't sound like Bakura suspected anything, but perhaps the spirit was just messing with him to see him squirm. He wouldn't put it above Bakura. He also wouldn't put it above himself. What was to stop him from just continuing on like Bakura wasn't even there? It made Marik curious, where the line lay between them, but was now really the time to press it? “I couldn't get to sleep.”

Bakura snorted. Marik could hear the smirk in his tone and wondered if he really was playing ignorant. It was hard to gauge, given he couldn't actually see the spirit. “What did you want me to do about it?”

“I don't know, I was just...” He searched for something plausible to cover up his behaviour. “We may as well practice some more.”

Bakura was silent for several seconds, as though carefully considering his words. Marik's brows furrowed and he made an exasperated expression at the ceiling. He didn't really want to play more Duel Monsters; he wanted to finish what he'd started. His body felt hot and uncomfortable, even more so as he awaited Bakura's response.

“You're acting weirder than usual, but alright,” the spirit answered at last. When he pulled Marik into the shared soul room, there was a glint of something in his eye. Perhaps he was just seeing things, but Marik scrutinized him, wondering if he'd interrupted him on purpose, but he didn't voice his suspicions. That would almost be like losing the game their conversations had become.

They sat down to play, making their cards appear and setting them out. After several games, Marik's consciousness had drifted off. His soul room fell away as he finally slipped into a restless sleep.

_..._

_Puke dribbled from between his lips, mingling with the tears and snot that had collected at the bottom of his chin. He choked, sputtering and coughing out nothing but acidic bile when hands removed the bit so he didn't suffocate himself._

_Everything burned. His eyes. His throat. His back. He sobbed and shook his head when the bit was replaced and the cutting started again._

_His clan's honour. Pride. Glory._

_This felt like none of those things. It was nothing but searing fire over his backside. The knife heated until it glowed red so it cauterized the wounds and he didn't bleed too much so he wouldn't die but it felt like he was dying where was Ishizu where was Rishid why was no one stopping this why whywhy-_

_He was so far away from himself by the time it was over. He was far away, floating where no one could cut him anymore, no one could hurt him. He didn't even feel the pain anymore, he didn't feel much of anything... but he felt something else. A hand carding through his hair. Not the same one that had done so before in a mockery of comfort, not the same hand that had hurt him. It was different._

Marik drifted awake in someone's arms, the nightmare long since having become a dull throb where it was usually searing pain. There was no hand running through his hair, but there was one cradling his shoulders, careful to avoid the scars on his back. Funny. He would usually wake up from that one screaming and whimpering, but he simply felt nothing, aside from the confusion at seeing the face above him.

“Why...?” His voice was quiet as he looked up at the spirit. Bakura made a noise in his throat, annoyed for some reason, his body charged with tension – as though he'd absorbed all of it from Marik.

Trying to piece together what had just happened, the former tombkeeper moved to sit a short ways away, sliding a hand up to touch the scars on his shoulder blades. That nightmare had been a common one for years now, but it was still one of his worst. Though he hadn't woken up panicked, he was still left with a sense of dread in his gut.

Bakura wasn't looking at him. The thief sat against the bottom of the stone outcropping. Their cards still lay a few feet away, abandoned when their games had stopped and Marik had drifted off.

“It's intolerable here when you're a mess.” He said, exhaling heavily as he gestured to the endless room around him. But there was something more behind his words. “I can't stand it.”

Marik could see how drained he looked. It was apparent in his body language and the dark circles under his eyes. It occurred to him that Bakura was probably getting the same emotional takeaway from the night terrors as he was.

“Your father really was a bastard.” The spirit added on flatly.

Marik dropped his hands to his lap, gazing down at them. “I didn't want to show you that.”

“Now you know how I feel.” Bakura sighed. Marik remembered the vision of the burning village that had filled his head the last time he'd seen Bakura upset. It sent a pang of sympathy through him, but sympathy just seemed to piss Bakura off so he said nothing. The most he did was shift closer to the spirit, their shoulders brushing up against each other.

Bakura shot him a small glance, but he didn't move away. It was a strange sort of comfort between them. There was nothing condescending about it, just mutual understanding. The spirit stared off in the distance, an intensity hiding behind the weariness of his eyes.

“It makes me hate the Pharaoh more,” Bakura finally said after a few minutes had passed.

“I'm not fond of him either.” Marik admitted, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the rock. Well, actually, it wasn't so much the Pharaoh himself, but what his existence had caused. Try as he might to get over it, he was still bitter. “I'm just too tired to continue hating.”

The silence resumed and Marik felt at ease now. He opened his eyes, his hand moving over to clasp the pale one resting on the other's thighs. He wasn't sure why he did it. But then again he also wasn't sure why Bakura had bothered to pull him from his nightmare – he never interfered in the past. Marik wasn't so sure he bought the excuse he gave either.

Bakura's hand was slightly smaller than his was, fingers thin and bony. He supposed this wasn't really Bakura's hand; he still wore the likeness of Ryou while his own body was lost somewhere in the shadows.

He wouldn't have been surprised if the spirit shook his hand away, but he didn't. Not even Bakura was above subtle gestures of empathy. He merely stared down at where their hands were connected as if it would reveal the secrets of the universe to him – or like it would burst into flames. They weren't actually holding hands, nothing in this room was real and whatever happened was simply a product of abstract thought – perhaps that made him able to tolerate it.

“Why did you duel for me in Battle City?”

Bakura looked at him in question, so Marik elaborated. “You didn't have to do it. You could have taken the Rod by other means, and you could have gotten the secrets of the carvings on my back out of someone else if you really wanted to. But you chose to help me, and saved Rishid in the process.”

Bakura frowned and turned his gaze away. “What does it matter? It was simply the most convenient option at the time.”

“You put your life on the line, and Ra ended up burning us both. And this was after I had you duel the Pharaoh and suffer Osiris' wrath. That doesn't sound like convenience to me.” Marik shook his head. “I knew I was really pushing it when I came crawling back to you in the Anzu girl's body.”

A hint of a smirk appeared on the spirit's face as he stared straight ahead. “Perhaps this upstart going up against the Pharaoh brought forth a bit of respect in me. Perhaps it pissed me off a little seeing another so _robbed_ by a system supporting him.”

Marik considered his words, quietly eyeing the sharpness of Bakura's stolen countenance. He said nothing. He'd gotten the answer he needed, closing his eyes and smiling to himself.

“You do realize that this could be the end of us, right? One last Shadow Game. One last hurrah.” Bakura spoke up suddenly. “If we lose, we'll die, and I know I won't be able to endure that again.”

Marik swallowed. He'd been trying to ignore that fact. They'd perform the ritual tomorrow, but there was a very real possibility one or both of them would not be returning from the darkness.

“Is that what you're afraid of?” He said. Bakura shook his head.

“I don't fear death, but it's the principle of the thing.” He glared at something high above, as though the Pharaoh’s head had appeared in the sky and magically replaced the moon. “I can't, I _won't_ , lose again.”

Marik watched him. Again he felt that same sense of admiration watching Bakura fight against something though he had a fool's chance in hell at winning. Unconsciously, he squeezed the other's hand before letting it drop from his grip. “We're very alike.”

“Hm?”

Marik smirked, leaning his head back. “I'm also stubborn and I hate to lose.”

Bakura's expression mirrored his. “You're more than stubborn, Ishtar, you're a full blown control freak. Who forced who to the edge of a pier and threatened to kill them if they didn't comply?”

Marik snorted. “Are you still sore about that?”

Bakura brushed his silvery bangs out of his face, scoffing back at him. “On the contrary, I was impressed... at the time. You've got more guts than I've seen from the typical human.”

Not bothering to point out that Bakura was _also_ human – though to what extent, he wasn't entirely sure – Marik simply arched a brow at him.

“I don't know if I've ever told you this, Bakura, but you're fucking weird.”

“That's rich coming from you.”

Marik laughed, the sound bubbling up from his lips so easily and echoing around his soul room. He wasn't sure why he was laughing, their situation was nothing to laugh about, but perhaps that was why he needed to. Bakura laughed too, no malicious or mocking quality to it. His teeth flashed in a smile aimed at the other.

“I think that's the first time I've seen you laugh – genuinely laugh. You should do it more often, all the doom and gloom really doesn't suit you.”

Still chuckling, Marik replied, “I could say the same to you.”

Bakura blinked in surprise, the smile falling from his face as a thoughtful expression replaced his jovial one. He turned his head away, but the former tomb keeper could still see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Marik opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something else, but ended up closing it again. For a rare moment, the silence between them continued, uninterrupted by constant quips and bickering.

Now wasn't the time for forming attachments. It could be over for either of them in a matter of hours.

It was odd, he really hadn't known Bakura for long, but he felt like he had. Perhaps, if they survived this, he wouldn't leave the conversation hanging so easily next time.

...

Ryou gently curled Marik's fingers around the mug, a soft smile on his face, though it did little to mask the concern beneath.

“After you drink this, I'll carry out the rest of the ritual. It just involves speaking a bit of the ancient text but... you likely won't hear it.”

Marik gazed down at the mug, the mixture of whatever it was sloshing around inside. He wrinkled his nose and tried to ignore the smell before looking back up at Ryou from where he sat on the floor, expression softening. “Thank you for helping me... us.”

He really did owe Ryou a lot. He'd done his best to make up for how he'd treated him in Battle City, though he never felt it was enough. It was too bad, because he knew he was going to have to be selfish again and ask for one more thing. He looked away. “And if I don't return as myself... you know what to do.”

Ryou grimaced. “Come on, don't pull that on me. I know you can do this.”

Marik nodded, though his words wouldn't stop the fear eating away at him. It had always been a common theme in his nightmares – getting possessed again and being unable to do anything about it. And now there was a very real chance of that happening.

But he wasn't a coward, and he couldn't let it stop him. Turning his attention back to the mug, he plugged his nose and tipped his head back. It was like slime sliding down his throat, thick and lumpy and cold, but he refused to stop because he knew if he did he would not start drinking it again. There was no going back now.

He gagged and covered his mouth when he was done, and Ryou took the mug from him. Several long seconds ticked by, and then a minute, and then another minute. Marik frowned when no immediate change took place. Perhaps it wasn't going to work. Perhaps they really were just a couple of stupid teens attempting some fraud ritual in the middle of a living room with a chalk circle drawn around them. As if he didn't already feel ridiculous, he currently had a duel disk strapped onto his arm with his deck in the slot and the Bakura doll was laying next to him.

Marik glanced around, not sure what he was expecting, maybe for darkness to start leaking from the walls, or his other self's cackle to echo from behind them. Ryou stayed crouched next to him, appearing much more patient than Marik was.

Marik was about to declare it a total failure, but when he opened his mouth it was like he tongue wouldn't work. His eyes grew weary, lids gradually sliding shut of their own accord, and his limbs grew strangely heavy. The sudden exhaustion wasn't natural, it wasn't mere tiredness. He knew because he'd felt this before, only he'd been less willing the last time the darkness had pulled at him. Marik tried to speak, to tell Ryou what was happening, but he already felt hands at his shoulders. They lowered his upper body down so that he could lay on the floor without smacking his head against it.

The last thing he was aware of in the physical world was Ryou moving away from him, out of the circle, and then he was falling far past the floor. As he fell he felt something move away from him and he immediately knew that Bakura was gone. He felt a surge of panic, not sure for whom it was for. He was now alone to complete his own Trial, and Bakura alone to complete his.

When he next opened his eyes, the swirling darkness of the shadows greeted him. The malevolent atmosphere seemed to reach for him like skeletal fingers of the dead clawing for one last glimpse at the light. He stood on a flat plain, emptiness in all directions, hand clutched to the duel disk on his opposite arm. He took a deep breath. He knew what he was here for, and if all had gone accordingly it wouldn't take long now.

The fog before him began to part and a familiar figure materialized. A slow clapping rang out into the open air, punctuated by a hollow cackle that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is...” The figure stopped clapping, voice sardonic and darkly amused.

Marik's heart pounded against his ribs, a cold sweat forming at his brow. It was like one of his nightmares, only this wasn't some dreamed up phantom, this was the real thing.

“My weaker half... why have you called me here, I wonder?” His other self said, the shadows retreating so that he was clearly visible. He stood, nothing about his appearance having changed; he wore the same clothes, the same cloak, the same menacing grin. He was currently inspecting his own arm, as though surprised to find himself whole once again. “Willingly venturing so deep into the shadows seems very unlike you. Life not working out the way you planned? Back to square one? Missing the darkness perhaps?”

Marik's expression hardened as he activated the duel disk, which snapped together and lit up, the lifepoint counter flashing at 4000. “I challenge you to a duel, winner take all.”

Across from him, another duel disk had appeared on his other self's arm and a deck in his hand. Marik watched uneasily as he glanced over the deck before shuffling it, not having anticipated what cards the Trial would afford him. He could only hope that they wouldn't include the Winged Dragon of Ra.

“That's interesting... you're not making the spirit of the Ring duel for you this time?” His other self shoved the deck into the slot, looking far too pleased with himself. “I haven't got anything to lose and all to gain, so I'm more than happy to play. What are your terms?”

“If I win, I claim your soul.”

“And if I win...?”

Marik grimaced as he went to draw his five cards. “... Then you claim mine.”

His other self laughed as the atmosphere around them seemed to crackle with energy, as it always did when a Shadow Duel was about to begin. “So, the final battle for dominance, eh?”

...

Bakura regarded his surroundings with indifference. He was already too familiar with the darkness to be surprised by it at any capacity, or feel it reaching out for the torn and ragged edges of his soul. He glanced ahead to see a path opening up through the fog and went to follow it without question. Something bounced against his chest, and he reached up to find a small hourglass dangling from a chain over his heart.

He held it before himself. The sand had only just begun to drip from the upper chamber, forming a small pool in the lower. He turned the hourglass this way and that, but the sand didn't halt, continuing to flow in the same direction no matter what angle he held it at. It reminded him of the tokens he'd used in the last RPG he'd played.

“A timed mission,” he muttered, letting it drop again. “Figures.”

But what did he have to do before time ran out?

He could have walked for minutes or hours or days. There was no change in the scenery, nothing to signify he was even going anywhere. He could have been walking in place for all he knew, but just when he was starting to get annoyed, the fog shifted before him.

Apparently there was a point to this Trial. Stone walls rose up before him, parting to reveal stairs leading down into nothingness. Soft torchlight caused the shadows to dance, bathing everything in an ambient glow. He didn't recognize this place, but he didn't have to be a genius to know that it was a tomb of some sort.

Bakura padded up to the entrance, one lone soul in a sea of darkness. There appeared to be no other place to go, nor anyone else around him to impede his search, but it was too easy, too welcoming. Hesitating for a moment, Bakura took a step downwards, and then another, descending into the darkness cautiously. When it became apparent that nothing would rush out to stop him he picked up the pace, still keeping his footfalls light. Soon enough he'd reached the bottom and proceeded into the chamber beyond.

An old instinct had awoken, one that he hadn't had to use in thousands of years. It made him tread carefully, training his ears for the slightest bit of sound, keeping mind of where his feet fell. Any differences in the earth he stepped over, anything that seemed off to him, he had to be wary of it all. One wrong step and could all be over before he'd even seen what was coming.

It was like he became one with the darkness as he moved. The torchlight was more scarce down here and the air was stale, so he had to rely less on his eyes and more on his other senses.

After a while he became bored. It seemed he was putting a needless amount of effort into not springing traps that weren't there, though he suspected that this was merely because he hadn't yet moved into the deeper parts of the tomb. From what he could tell, this place was a labyrinth crafted by the shadows for the purpose of this Trial. There was no telling what lay ahead for him

Bakura hummed quietly to a vague tune, a song he'd once heard playing while he was stuck in Marik's head. As he walked, he began to notice bits of gold scattered on the sides of the hallway, trinkets cast here and there. He frowned at the petty treasure. Most tombs he'd sacked in his time were better maintained than this, and showed more respect for their keepings – not that he cared about that but he still found it odd. Besides, what fun was it if the treasure wasn't well hidden?

He had to slow to place his footfalls more carefully, more and more loot seeming to collect at his feet.; he didn't want to step on a pressure plate concealed by gold. It wasn't a challenge, more of a minor hindrance than anything.

His humming trailed off. The hall had opened up into a wider chamber, and had more treasure to show for it. None of it interested him. He was after something far more valuable.

Bakura raised his eyes to scan ahead, and then froze mid step. A flash of red had caught his attention, hanging still in the midst of all the gold. It sat in the middle of the room, a centrepiece. He knew what it was instantly – a hint left in plain view. The blood coloured cloak was draped over heaps of treasure haphazardly thrown in a pile, accentuated by the jewels, mismatched sets of gold, statuettes of various proportion.

It was a haul only fitting... for a thief. A tease of what he was looking for, _who_ he was looking for.

Bakura laughed to himself and shook his head. He'd only known what he wanted from the shadows, not what game he had to play to get it, but now he understood.

“So I have to rob a tomb...” he said out loud to no one.

“Not just any tomb, my own tomb.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chapter but oh well what can ya do. I might go back and revise it later. It's a lot shorter than I intended... Also card games.

...

“I knew you were missing the darkness. Why else could you possibly need my soul?” Marik's other self grinned at him.

“It's none of your business.” He snapped back. “I'll start. I summon Vorse Raider in attack mode and set two cards face down.”

Marik felt pretty confident in his opening move as he watched his monster appeared on the field before him. He would be ready to protect it in case his other self summoned anything more powerful.

His other self bristled, expression twisting in rage. “None of my business? In case you hadn't noticed, your business involves me, so it's only fair you let me in on the fun.” And then his face abruptly settled into a mask of impassiveness that Marik found unnerving. “Whatever the case, I activate Heavy Storm. I don't want any traps you have getting in the way of this.”

Marik cursed as a harsh wind blew away Sakuretsu Armor and Mystical Space Typhoon. Bakura would have chided him for losing one of the traps he'd suggested to him so early. As if that wasn't bad enough, his next move made Marik's stomach sink in dismay.

“Now I activate Snatch Steal, switching control of your Vorse Raider to me.”

He watched helplessly as his monster switched over to his other self's side of the field. “Attack him directly!”

Marik felt the blow to his lifepoints like a punch to the gut, the shadow magic making him bow in pain. Of course, since it was a Shadow Game, the damage inflicted upon him would feel real. He'd mentally prepared for it, but it was still unbearable.

But the other Marik wasn't done yet.

“On top of that, I'll activate Sebek's Blessing, adding the damage I've done to you to my life points. I'll set two cards face down and end my turn.” He declared. “Already off to a good start, eh, Marik?”

Marik straightened up with a slight wince. This was going worse than expected. The duel had only just begun and he'd already lost almost half his lifepoints while his other self currently stood at 5900.

“Hardly. Your Snatch Steal pays me 1000 life points each turn for as long as it's in effect,” he pointed out, and indeed his own lifepoints rose from 2100 back up to 3100. It wasn't much of an upside though. His other self already had two cards on the field and control of a decently powered monster. Marik knew he'd have to act quickly if he wanted to catch up; one more slip-up could cost him dearly.

“Well, this would be no fun if it were over too quickly.” His other self said. Marik expected him to cackle in maniacal glee, but strangely he did no such thing. “I've been trapped in this hell for quite some time and I've been so bored. I want to draw this out for as long as possible.”

But there was nothing in his expression that suggested he was enjoying this. There was only anger, and a wounded look in his eye, something dangerous and animal-like hiding behind it.

“Guess that's what you have to do considering you can't just summon Ra and wipe the field,” Marik replied with bitterness. It was a shot in the dark. He didn't think his other self had Ra, but he had to make sure.

“I don't need Ra to defeat you.” His other self hissed back, looking irritable and defensive. Marik tried not to let the relief show on his face; he didn't have it after all.

The battle continued, Marik managing to flip summon Magician of Faith to bring back his Mystical Space Typoon and using it to take back his monster. But then his other self summoned the same monster on his side and they were evenly matched. It went on like that for a while, and he found he wasn't able to get at his other self's lifepoints, but at the same time he was doing an okay job at protecting his own.

That was when he started to realize something uncanny about the duel occurring before him. His other self hadn't played a single card that wasn't also in Marik's own deck. His eyes widened as he came to a realization. Of course, how had he not considered it before?

He was essentially dueling himself, so it only made sense that their cards would be mirrored. He wondered if his other self had come to the same conclusion. Marik ground his teeth nervously. He could try and predict what his alter ego would do, but his alter ego could do the same to him in return.

Marik flip summoned his Man-Eater Bug and destroyed his other self's monster. Then, free to attack him, struck at his lifepoints with his second monster. His other self recoiled in pain, one hand at his chest as he glared at Marik.

“You still haven't told me why you've called me back to duel you.”

“You want to know so badly?” Marik replied, setting another card face down. “I need the piece of my soul that lies with you back.”

“That's too damn bad, because I've rather taken a liking to it.” His other self spat back at him. “And I won't let it go so easily!”

Marik cried out in shock as both of his monsters suddenly vanished from the field and a new one resurrected in their place. A blistering wave of heat swept over him as steel bars encased him. He cursed himself for having walked right into that. He summoned his second Vorse Raider alongside the Lava Golem that had been put on his side without his consent. His other self had one facedown on his side of the field, and if Marik guessed right, it would be Gravity Bind to prevent him from using Lava Golem to attack.

Marik chanced it anyway. There was no harm if he didn't. He would be stuck with this monster anyway until he found some way to get rid of it. As he expected, Gravity Bind activated and locked both his monsters, preventing him from attacking. He wiped perspiration from his brow, exhaling heavily from the heat the golem gave off.

His other self was speaking again, regarding him with that same cold fury. But Marik found it somewhat hard to focus on him. They'd widdled each others lifepoints down to lower than 3000 and the shadow magic was taking its toll on him. The intense heat wasn't helping.

“You gave me this part of you, Marik. Don't you remember? You had no outlet for all your pain and trauma, so what did you do?” His other self suddenly exploded into hysterics, clawing at his own hair, eyes wild with fury. “You thrust it all onto me! What was I for all those years? A landfill for your thoughts? You have no right to look at me with such disgust. I only exist because you couldn't deal with the darkness yourself!”

Marik lowered his gaze, feeling guilty despite it all. He sighed empathetically, listening to his other self rant, and then raised his eyes again. He hadn't come here to feel guilty, he'd come to find closure. He was done with guilt, and it wasn't yet another thing he'd thrust onto his darker half. His other self didn't need it, he needed closure as well, and Marik could only provide it by winning this duel.

The other Marik met his gaze evenly, having put together some semblance of composure once again.

“You're responsible for blackening this piece of your soul and, now that you have no further need for me, you want it back?” His lips pulled taut in a sneer. “I don't think so.”

...

There was a loud bang from behind the spirit and he turned to see that the entryway to the room of treasure had been sealed off. He smirked.

“Guess there's no going back now.”

Bakura crossed the room, scoffing at the pile with the Thief King's – his – cloak on it before he reached the door on the other side. The sand grains in the hourglass had completely covered the bottom of it by this point and he didn't want to waste any more time.

No sooner had he opened the door did he hear a soft _wooshing_ sound from the hallway beyond. He turned his body and stepped to the side just as a curved blade came swinging down through the opening, puncturing the air before his face.

“And here I thought I would be bored!”

And indeed he wasn't. He slipped between the blade and the door frame and into the corridor, and that was when the real fun begun.

He moved like he was merely dancing to a rhythm memorized long ago in muscle memory. It was almost too easy. He'd expected challenge from the Shadow Trials, but this was still amusing. He'd once been one with the darkness itself, he knew its inner workings, so it made sense that he'd also know how to conquer it. The shadows were likely pulling pieces from his memory, constructing the challenge around them, which was why he already knew what traps were in hiding before they sprung. His subconscious practically did all the work for him.

Bakura laughed with exhilaration as he bounded down the halls, the hourglass bouncing at his chest. It was filling at a steady rate but that didn't deter him. He felt a thrum of energy alongside it, connected to his heart, and with every step it grew stronger. If he followed the pull he assumed it would lead him back to his body.

He stopped at a crossroads, deliberating for a moment on which direction he should take.

And then he heard it.

Shuffling, silent at first, but growing louder. Whatever _it_ was it didn't sound like it came by itself. He turned his head to see movement in the gloom and he narrowed his eyes. No creature this Trial had constructed could frighten him, but if it (they?) proved to be formidable that was a whole other issue.

Though it wasn't quite fear that gripped him once the creatures stepped into the light.

The corpses shambled towards him, as charred as the day he'd last seen them alive. On the outside they weren't even physically recognizable, and even if he didn't know them by name anymore they resonated deeply within his memory. They reached for him, blackened fingers outstretched towards the piece of their village that still lived. For a moment he was back hiding behind the wall and praying to the gods above to stop the fire and death occurring just beyond. He bent slightly at the waist, the breath leaving him in a single unsteady exhale.

He caught himself a moment later, anger setting in as he saw it for what it was – a trick of the shadows. The souls of Kul Elna could not be here, it wasn't possible. It was an illusion designed to make him lose focus.

But, trick or not, it had broken his rhythm. He took an involuntary step away from the corpses and winced when a tile sank beneath his weight. Behind him, a section of the wall dropped, sealing off the way he'd just come. He glanced down the hallway unpopulated by the dead and flung himself that way just as a blade dropped down and cleaved the stone where he'd just been standing. Up ahead he could see another section of the wall beginning to descend. If it hit the ground he would be stuck with nothing but a small legion of ghouls before him.

He threw himself underneath the stone before it slammed down behind him, cutting the hallway clean in half. What he'd failed to account for was that this was where the hallway ended. Up ahead, there was nothing but a blank wall.

_No, no, no._

His eyes widened as he heard a hiss emit from above him and he looked up to see a green-tinged mist seeping from the corners of the room.

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me!”

Sliding off Ryou's pale blue shirt and tying it around his mouth and nose, Bakura moved quickly. He searched with his hands, any depression in the wall, anything that would allow him through, but his fingers found nothing but dust. It was a dead end.

If he could have swore he would have, but air was too precious. He dropped to the floor to avoid the majority of the gas, pressing the shirt tighter to his mouth and nose as he tried to think. All he could hear was the pounding of the things on the other side of the wall behind him. His hands felt at the floor for a switch, a pressure plate, there had to be something – anything. This couldn't be it.

The poisonous fog was descending fast, beginning to seep through the fabric. It had a sickly sweet scent, pouring into his nostrils and onto his tongue. It sent a wave of dizziness through him and he tried to cough it out but he wasn't successful. It made his eyes water, further impeding his efforts of finding a way out.

His limbs already felt so heavy so he sunk to the floor. The hourglass bounced before him, grains of sand still falling at a steady pace. He wondered if he would die or if the last bit of sand would reach the bottom first.

He'd never considered time a finite resource. Three thousand years in the Ring had desensitized him to its flow. He was – had been – immortal, and that immortality had made him patient, but now he saw that time had truly run out for him. Perhaps that was what this Trial was meant to show him.

Was this how it was going to end?

Bakura blew out a few short exhales, meant to be a chuckle but it was barely a snort. Of course it always ended like this, alone in the darkness. Though this time it was empty, not the living, pulsating thing that was Necrophades. He'd been deluding himself that it would turn out differently. One failure after another. He'd learned a long time ago that fate never treated him fairly. What made him think he could win this time?

His eyes finally slid shut – the poison stung too much to keep them open.

He wondered if Marik was having more luck with his Trial. If there was one thing he took comfort in, it was that Marik could still win. At least then... it wouldn't have been a waste. It was far more pleasant to imagine him making it out than it was thinking about his own impending demise.

Teeth clenching, Bakura slowly curled in on himself. He hadn't known helplessness like this since Kul Elna. Every other time he had gone down fighting, but now he couldn't even do that. He could only wait until the poison numbed him completely and time ran out. He was weak and pathetic, he'd never stood a chance. And now it was all over.

And yet...

He still didn't want to die.

He didn't pray, he hadn't prayed since the night he'd become convinced the gods had all turned their backs on him. But he did reach for something, he wasn't sure what, only his subconscious memory knew. He felt with his soul rather than his mind. It was a last ditch effort, a desperate attempt at calling back what was once lost. He had no idea if it was even here, but if his body had gone to the shadows, perhaps other parts of him had gone as well...

Though his strength was a single dying flame in a sea of darkness, he felt that same thrum of energy from within.

The sound of shattering stone echoed around him and there was a rush of fresh air. He convulsed, heaving out a cough and then drawing in a breath that wasn't laced with poison. He lay there as something passed overheard, sounds of conflict echoing from nearby as he struggled to pull himself back up. He still felt weak and drained, but that had never stopped him in the past, and it wouldn't stop him now. The thief looked upwards blearily, something holy and white filling his vision.

The _ka_ was much smaller than when he'd last seen it, and it didn't seem to have an entirely solid form, yet it still managed to fill the expanse of the corridor. The tail of the creature struck at the corpses, snake head hissing as it drove them off. It then turned towards him, regarding him quietly. Bakura didn't know what to say, too stunned by the fact that he could still summon his _ka_. He didn't even think he would still be able to control _heka_ before starting the Trials. He thought he'd lost that ability millennia ago when his soul was merged with the darkness.

“Diabound,” He uttered quietly, reaching forward. His fingertips just barely touched the pearl scales of the magnificent creature. He supposed he must have been close to his body for such a circumstance to occur.

With new resolve, he started with determination down the passage of stone. “Let's finish this.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters after this one, chapter 8 and then an epilogue. Don't have much to say about this one other than I feel bad for Yami Marik on a level I find hard to explain. I feel as though the happiest I can make him is returning him to where he came from. The shows way of dealing with him bothered me. It doesn't seem like Marik truly 'deals' with him, he just sends him away and tries to forget, but you can't just forget that which has basically fucked up your entire life and ignore what makes you upset. But it just seems like that's how Marik deals with his problems, he doesn't confront them directly. That's what causes him so much distress, or at least, that's my take on his feelings in this fic anyway. Thank you for all the comments as well! I'm still kind of figuring out what characterization I like best for these characters and am still pretty nervous about sharing my writing, but the comments have helped with my confidence.

...

“I know it's my fault, but I'm making an effort to atone for my wrongdoings, starting with the murder of my father and ending with all the pain I caused in Battle City.” Marik said, face a steely mask as he spoke. “The same could never be said for you.”

And it was true because he knew his other self didn't have the capacity for it. All he was seeing was a walking image of his own rage and hate that had been detached from him. His other self received nothing more. He was just a missing piece.

“Atone for what? Protecting yourself?” His other self's temper flared, eyes taking on a mad and frightened look. He pulled at his hair, now looking more scared than enraged. At that moment, he resembled more the frightened and miserable child that Marik had been years ago than ever. He jabbed an accusing finger at Marik, a tremor running through him. “He was so angry I thought he was going to kill us! He almost killed Rishid! What was I supposed to do? What were _we_ supposed to do?”

Marik closed his eyes and sighed deeply. That's all he was dealing with now, a frightened child, a part of himself that was never supposed to exist. The lines between them were beginning to blur and with each passing second he felt less like he was talking to a separate dark entity and more like a mirror image. He let his other self vent it all out before he spoke.

“Like father, I was a victim of fate.” Marik was pitiful for the man because he was simply carrying out the Ishtar's task, but much like his own actions weren't justified by his pain, his father's weren't either. There was no reason for his cruelty, for him to _grin_ as he cut his own flesh and blood. Marik saw that now – he hadn't when he'd been a confused child, ignorant to his own darkness. He couldn't truly hate his father but he had to accept his own negative feelings surrounding him, the feelings that his other self had been forced to bear in his steed. He was done with denial, done with running away. “I lashed out because I didn't know who to blame or how to make it stop.”

But he realized that for him to truly move on, he would have to let it all go. Not for anyone else, not for approval or status in the eyes of his peers, but for himself. After all, it was too late to change the past.

His other self regained his composure – barely – and scoffed at him. He looked with displeasure at his hand and set one more card face down, then ended his turn.

Marik felt a searing wave of heat, barely managing to hold in a cry as Lava Golem drained him of 1000 points, dropping him from 2600 to 1600. He touched the skin on his own arm to remind himself he wasn't actually being burned, just receiving the pain of it. He then turned his attention back to his other self. He was surprisingly calm, despite the fact that one wrong move could cost him the duel.

“It wasn't right of me to send you to the shadows. And now, I'm prepared to accept all your rage – my rage, my hate, my pain. I want all of it back, so that I may lay it to rest.”

His other self glared at him hollowly. “Do you honestly think it will be that easy?”

“It won't.” Marik drew his card, eyes flitting to it. “But nothings ever been easy.”

He slammed his card down – his second Mystical Space Typhoon. His other self's eyes widened as Gravity Bind was destroyed, leaving him wide open to a 3000 point attack.

But then he grinned and Marik felt dread pool in his stomach. His heart pounded in his throat.

“Hah!” His other self called out, flipping up his one other facedown – Mirror Force. Marik's Lava Golem and Vorse Raider were obliterated, leaving him without any monsters on the field to protect his remaining 1600 lifepoints from another attack. He had no choice but to end his turn.

His other self played a card, fingers twitching with excitement as he did so. “I activate Monster Reborn to bring back Lava Golem to my side of the field.”

Marik watched as the magma fiend rose up around his other self, face set with determination. His other self was going in for the kill, but he was counting on this.

“Now, attack!”

Marik revealed his last facedown card.

“I activate Call of the Haunted!” He called out, reviving one of his own monsters from the graveyard. “I bring back Vorse Raider!”

His monster materialized on the field just in time for it to shield him from the blast of fire and brimstone. He could only summon it in attack position, so it still took 1100 lifepoints out of him when it was destroyed, causing him to scream in pain and drop to his knees.

His other self threw his head back and laughed. “You can buy all the time you like, but it won't save you!”

Marik grit his teeth and blinked away the darkness clawing at the edges of his vision.

“True.” He wasn't done yet, far from it. “But this might.”

He threw down a spell card – Change of Heart.

His other self visibly blanched.

For one turn, Lava Golem was Marik's. He hesitated for a moment, seeing the utter shock on his opponent's face, and then he called his attack. He wanted to close his eyes and look away as a wave of fire burned out the last of his other self's lifepoints, but he couldn't. He felt it was wrong to shy away from what he was doing, so he merely looked on solemnly, the other's screams ringing in his ears as he was defeated for the second time by Marik's own hand.

This time, however, he wasn't merely being swept under the rug.

Marik felt himself growing faint. He couldn't stay conscious much longer. The heat was getting to him, causing his vision to become a blurry mix of light from the fire and the swirling darkness of his surroundings. He felt himself sinking towards oblivion, but before he did so he felt something rush back into him, bringing with it a sense of completion – but not necessarily of relief. Repressed memories that his other self had held onto flashed before him all at once and it burned hotter than the lava, hotter than Ra's fire. He couldn't even make sense of it all. It was like dozens of voices were speaking at the same time, pitch growing higher and higher until it was nothing but a single rising scream.

Unable to stay awake for much longer, Marik blacked out.

...

With one hand braced on the wall, Bakura made his way down the corridor. There lay a door at the end, one that he was unable to see through because of the light streaming from beyond it. That had to be the way out, he was sure.

Diabound's image flickered around him before finally disappearing entirely. He had no more strength to sustain his _ka_ , which had been weak when he summoned it to begin with. Nonetheless he had served his purpose and helped protect Bakura from any remaining traps. It brought a certain relief to Bakura knowing he could still summon his companion.

Bakura had never cared for pain, even now with his body invaded by poison. He'd always been able to detach himself from it because of his determination to fulfil a goal. Instead, he only felt a tiredness weighing down his limbs, but he knew that if he could just make it to the end, it wouldn't matter anymore.

His hand touched the frame of the door and he thrust himself through, into the blinding light.

And then just like that the shadows dissipated around him and the world seemed to tilt. The blinding light that he'd been peering into was nothing more than the ceiling light of Ryou's living room. He soon realized he wasn't looking through an unfamiliar set of eyes this time.

He coughed, feeling like his lungs were filled with dust, the grip of death having imprinted itself inside of him as though reluctant to let him go. He pushed himself up to stare down at his hands, no longer pale but brown instead. Someone was speaking, but he couldn't hear them. His eyes swept over his clothing, the blue shenti he wore over his lower half, the crimson cloak fanning out around him.

He touched his bare chest. His _ka_ was within reach if he ever needed to call it again. He flexed his fingers, mesmerized for the moment that he existed in the physical world without acting through someone else. His touch was his own, his breath was his own, his eyes were his own.

He'd won.

He gasped softly as he remembered something, twisting over onto his side.

Marik lay there, his expression oddly peaceful, and that concerned the thief because he hadn't expected to wake up before him. When Bakura reached over to touch his shoulder, burning heat met his palm, as though he were running a high fever. As soon as his skin made contact, Marik flinched, the calm image disturbed. His expression twisted up in pain as though Bakura had burned _him._

“Marik,” he said, shaking him lightly. He didn't even know if Marik was done with his Trial yet, and he didn't care either. Having him alive and pissed off that he hadn't finished was preferable to... the alternative.

Marik's eyelids fluttered, his lavender eyes fixating on the face hovering above him. They were vacant at first, and Bakura's grip on his shoulders tightened as he feared it wasn't _the right Marik_ that returned, but then he seemed to come back to himself.

“Bakura,” Marik pushed himself up, sliding the duel disk off and wrapping his arms around him. Bakura made a dumbfounded noise and awkwardly settled his hands on his shoulders. He found he wasn't very much prepared for the physical world, and all the contact that came with it.

“What the hell?” Bakura questioned slowly, wondering if the other had lost it. The amount of shadow magic that still swirling in the air must have gotten to his head. He pushed Marik away from himself after a few moments and held him at arms length. “How do you feel?”

Marik at first looked as though he didn't understand the question, raising a hand to his own chest and staring off into space. It was as though he were searching for the part of himself that had been missing, trying to gauge if his alter ego was still at large, but there was no alter ego anymore. It was just Marik. Realizing this, a slight grin cracked his expression. “I'm fine.”

He seemed to take in Bakura's appearance for the first time, the contrast between his stolen body and his true form visibly surprising him. It was one thing to see it on a doll but another to see it in right before his eyes. Pale skin had become dark, his long white hair was cropped and messy, and a scar cut down the side of his face. There was that same sharpness to his features however, that hadn't changed.

“I thought you both were dead.” A concerned third voice spoke, causing the two to look over. Ryou walked over to crouch beside them as the last of the shadow magic wavered and then vanished. Their surroundings returned to normal, leaving nothing but a living room with a chalk circle drawn in the middle of it as evidence the darkness was ever here in the first place.

Ryou turned to Bakura, expression contemplative. Like Marik, he'd never seen the Thief King in person, though he had a description of what he looked like. “So this is... you.”

“Yes...” Bakura said quietly, feeling awkward. He didn't look at his former host. “Thanks, I guess.”

Marik scowled at him. “Is that all you can say?”

Bakura matched his scowl, growling in displeasure. “What am I supposed to do, get down on my knees and kiss his feet for helping us?”

Marik snorted. “Well that's what I'd make you do.”

Bakura rounded on him hotly. “Perhaps you should do it if you're so obsessed with expressing gratitude!”

Ryou interjected before the argument could escalate as per their usual fashion, laughing sheepishly. It seemed far too casual considering they had just walked into the jaws of death and back out again.

“I don't think that will be necessary, but you could start with helping me clean up.”

...

Marik blew out a breath, hanging up the phone and running a hand through his hair. He shoved his phone in his pocket and exited the guest room, every nerve still alight with anxiety. He forced himself to calm and strode towards the kitchen, past Ryou who was sitting at the table working on his RPG, and towards the balcony.

Bakura was outside, leaning against the railing with an air of disdain. Marik wondered what he was thinking, and how he was handling finally existing in his own body, being _alive_ again. He found it strange that Bakura didn't seem even remotely pleased about his victory, but then again there was little he seemed pleased about in general.

“I told Ishizu everything.”

“What?” Bakura turned to him, surprised. “How did she react?”

Marik sighed again, hoping he'd done the right thing. He'd divulged everything starting with the nightmares and ending with the Thief King's resurrection. He didn't want to keep secrets from his sister anymore, but at the same time he could see how his association with the spirit who'd tried to end the world could be concerning. “She... freaked out at first, but once I explained the situation she seemed more understanding.”

And it had been a lot to explain. He'd been in the guest room for hours. Ryou had even knocked on the door a few times to check on him.

“Look, you have no identification-”

“I'd prefer if it stayed that way.” Bakura muttered. Marik continued.

“And you have some rather defining physical features. Times have changed, and you can't just... exist the way you are.”

Bakura 'hmph'ed and crossed his arms, disregarding him again. Marik rolled his eyes, not in the mood for this. Of course Bakura was going to be difficult when Marik was trying to help him out, he expected nothing less.

“I've discussed this with Ishizu already. She works for the government and she can pull a few strings to get you special ID.” He said. “We'll have to go back to Egypt to get it all sorted out though. We'll probably leave within the week. After that...”

“We end up where we were stuck before,” Bakura spoke up when he trailed off. “Only this time I have a body of my own to waste away in.” Seeing Marik's expression, a sneer twisted his features. “Sorry, too cynical?”

Marik didn't know what to say to that. Bakura's attitude made sense now. Sure he had his body back, but what else was he left with? What purpose did he serve now? Marik knew all too well how he felt, both of them weighed down with the never ending question of 'now what?'

“Listen,” the former tomb keeper spoke at last, voice hardened. “I'm not going to coddle you, Bakura. You've never coddled me, and I respect you for it.” He took a step towards the thief, who continued to glare at him, but it was a tired look. “I'm not going to pretend everything is all fine and dandy now just because we got what we wanted from the shadows. We're both fools if we buy into that mindset.”

Marik extended his hand towards him, remembering the offer he made and hoping Bakura remembered too. His tone softened. “But we don't have to be alone in this. Why should we be?”

He realized now that the only one capable of empathizing with what he'd gone through, relating with all the hatred he'd carried with him, and knew how he truly felt was Bakura. He knew his siblings loved and supported him, but they didn't understand him in the way Bakura did.

He didn't want to be alone. He had a feeling Bakura didn't either.

But the thief only stared at his hand, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he seemed to deflate, turning away from Marik.

“Maybe not.” He spoke quietly, but he didn't acknowledge the offered hand. He slid the glass door open and went back inside, leaving Marik to his own devices.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before a short epilogue which I'll be posting relatively quickly. Fair warning, there's a mature rating for a reason! Also alcohol.

...

Bakura was pissed, and he didn't think even alcohol would ease it.

He'd come home – well it wasn't so much home, though it was the closest thing he associated with home while he was still in Ryou's body – bottle in hand. He'd swiped it off of someone leaving the liquor store on a whim without even really thinking about it, it had almost been too easy. He didn't even know what it was – some off-brand whiskey. He didn't care either.

Ryou was at a friend's house for the night (Bakura didn't want to know which, he hated them all), leaving them to their own devices in the shitty apartment. Probably for good reason. Gods only knew Ryou needed a break from all the craziness Bakura seemed to bring with him.

He supposed the apartment wasn't actually that bad, but he was just so irritated that everything was awful to him. He sat with his legs pushed between the bars of the small patio, feet dangling off as he slouched forward. The bottle hung from his fingertips, nearly full. He'd hardly drank any of it – it was foul and left him wanting to gag. He was half tempted to chuck it off the building. The stuff they brewed these days was just awful.

Bakura glared up at the moon as he took another swig, cringing at the sharp and bitter taste. Despite how little he'd drank, he already felt slightly dizzy. He supposed it was due to the fact this body had previously existed in Ancient Egypt and had absolutely no tolerance built up.

He wasn't sure what had prompted this spell, and that was perhaps what annoyed him the most. It was like something had just come out of nowhere and slapped him in the face with everything that was plaguing his mind.

No, that wasn't entirely true. He had an idea of what was bothering him, and it was sleeping in the guest room down the hall.

He was irritated because nothing should have been irritating him, and yet it was. He was irritated at being irritated. He was irritated at himself. And he was irritated at Marik.

Marik. Marik. Marik. Yes, it always came back to him.

But no one was forcing him to stay. Technically Bakura could leave any time he wanted, complications of having a body of his own with no identification be damned. What was to stop him from just walking out right now and disappearing into the night?

And yet he found that he didn't want to. His and Marik's partnership had been... something. Frustrating at times, difficult, disorganized – gods only knew how both of them had managed to survive the shadows and finish their trials – and yet it had also been... thrilling. Never had he met someone so like him before, yet so different. As temperamental and arrogant as Marik could be, Bakura felt compelled to assist him, and to challenge him, to go back and forth in that rhythm they had come to be so familiar with.

It went against everything Bakura had ever known. He didn't form partnerships. He didn't form attachments. He'd always relied on himself and only himself unless absolutely necessary. Everyone else was expendable; they couldn't be depended on when push came to shove.

But Marik... Marik was different. Marik, who shared more in common with him than anyone else.

And he hated it because it was a liability. Or perhaps he was simply scared of forming an attachment, because if there was one thing he'd learned it was that anything and everything close to him would be – without fail – ripped away.

“Damn it all...” Bakura muttered.

But that wasn't the only reason he found himself so upset. Over three thousand years with nothing but revenge at the forefront of his mind and now... what was left? He'd lost his chance. He had no purpose, and yet he was still here, living and breathing. That fact had snuck up on him as slowly as the poison had descended upon him in the shadows.

He dealt with it as he always did – pointedly ignoring his emotions. Bakura stood up and turned away from the moon with disgust, sliding open the patio door with more force than necessary and stepping back inside. To his surprise, he found Marik in the kitchen looking misplaced, like he'd walked in and forgotten the reason for it.

“You're awake.” Bakura stated, an unspoken question in his words.

“Couldn't sleep,” Marik replied. “Bad dream.”

Bakura cast himself into one of the chairs next to the kitchen table, setting the bottle down as he did so. It clacked hard against the wooden surface. He cocked his head slightly. “I thought the nightmares were gone.”

Marik shrugged. “Everyone gets bad dreams from time to time. They aren't as severe now, but they're still something I have to deal with. I find that I have more control over them.”

“Yes, control is something you can never seem to... get enough of,” Bakura noted absentmindedly, frowning at his own comment as he realized how weird it sounded.

Thankfully, Marik didn't say anything about that, merely giving him an odd look. Then he took notice of the bottle and nodded to himself, as if Bakura's behaviour suddenly made sense to him.

“You're drinking? By yourself?” He snorted. “That's lame.”

“Care to join me then?” Bakura grinned, giving the bottle a slight shake, the liquor sloshing inside. He knew it seemed far too casual. They hadn't spoken much for two days, both mulling over their own problems, an unspoken tension hanging between them, and now he was offering to drink together? “Come on, Ishtar, don't leave me hanging.”

Marik considered him for a moment then, without taking his eyes off of him, slid into the chair opposite him.

“I suppose it couldn't hurt.” He took the bottle from him, taking a shot straight and then sputtering. “Ugh... that's nasty.”

“Indeed.”

Scowling at Bakura's amusement, Marik leaned back in his chair and eyed him curiously.

“So what's eating you”

Bakura tried not to look taken aback, narrowing his eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

Marik's eyes became half-lidded. “You're drinking. By yourself. At two in the morning.”

“I don't see how that...” Bakura thought for a moment, and then realized how this looked. He made an irritated noise and waved him off. “It's none of your business.”

“Whatever you say.” Marik's tone was pissing him off now. “You don't have to be so defensive, Bakura.”

“I'm not being defensive, I just don't feel like talking about it.” Bakura grumbled back. Fine, two could play at that game. “You agreed to drink with me so clearly something's bothering you. Why don't you tell me what that dream was about? Was it your darker half again?”

Marik's expression turned pensive. He stared at his hand, which rested on the table before him.

“Strangely... no.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Well I guess... sort of, in a way. I don't know, it was different from the usual.”

Bakura slid the bottle from hand to hand across the table, having to catch it from toppling over a few times. He hoped the sound would annoy Marik. “Oh?”

“I...” Marik's eyebrows were drawn together. He suddenly reached across the table and put his hand on the bottle to stop Bakura from fiddling with it. “Okay, you got me, I don't want to talk about it either.”

“So let's talk about something else.” Bakura smiled and withdrew the whiskey, letting it rest on his knee instead. “What're your plans exactly? You gonna stay in Egypt?”

Maybe he was being petty but if Marik was going to interrogate him, he clearly forgot he could do the same in return.

“I don't know yet.” Marik answered. “Ishizu would want me to, to finish up my applications for university, but...”

Marik went on. Bakura was listening, but with one ear in the conversation. In truth, he didn't see why Marik bothered with this crap. It was like he was trying to pour himself into an Upstanding Citizen mould he could never fit; it didn't suit him at all. Perhaps he himself knew that too. Still, Bakura didn't comment, only nodding in acknowledgement every so often.

Marik talked about his job at the museum in Egypt, his plans for his education in his homeland. His expression clouded with uncertainty as he talked about his siblings. His chair was turned to the side, faced away from Bakura as he spoke. He didn't look at him.

Yet Bakura, for some reason, couldn't take his eyes off of him.

It was probably the alcohol slurring his concentration. There was something about the way Marik held himself that had always been... alluring. The effort he put into his appearance, the regality with which he presented himself, like he was above everything. That was something that hadn't changed even after Marik had insisted he was trying to move on from how he used to be.

Bakura wondered if Marik still held the desire to be a king, a god, something more than mortal, no matter how deeply it was buried. His gaze slid down Marik's profile, from his eyes to his lips.

Yes, definitely the alcohol's work.

“So what about you?”

Bakura started a bit, realizing he was being addressed. He tried not to act like he hadn't just been staring at the other. “Hm?”

He didn't like the look in Marik's eye. “What are you going to do now?”

Bakura was abruptly sour again. “I'll think of something.”

“You don't have a plan.” Marik said. It wasn't a question.

“Money is no issue for me.” Bakura replied, fully aware that that wasn't what Marik was insinuating at all. “What the hell is it to you anyway?”

Marik gazed at him for a long while, blowing a breath out of his nose before he spoke again. “I was just asking. You always seem to get like this when we're on this topic.”

“Because it's a stupid topic.” Bakura had set the whiskey out on the table again, flicking his fingernail at the plastic and making a tinking noise to emphasize his words. “Besides, you don't sound like you've got it together either. You've got a choice between doing what's expected of you, going back and pleasing your brother and sister, and your own personal freedom, making your own path. It's not hard to tell that you don't want to start your _'new life'_ in the same country where all your trauma was born.”

Perhaps he was doing a bit of projecting of his own, but it was still dead on the mark. Marik looked uncomfortable now as well, and Bakura gave a self satisfied smile as the former tomb keeper went to take another drink.

More quietly, Bakura added on. “The Marik I know wouldn't even be giving this choice much thought.”

Marik's face scrunched up, and Bakura had a feeling it wasn't entirely due to the alcohol. He set down the bottle and threw Bakura a venomous look. “What is your _problem_?”

“I don't know! You tell me!”

“... You don't want us to part ways, do you? If you remember, I made you an offer.”

“I can look out for _myself_ and I don't care what you do.” Bakura sighed and took another drink as if to distance himself from the conversation. “Just stop being so spineless. It reminds me of that ridiculous Namu persona you put on.”

Marik threw his arms up like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You call me spineless and yet you're the one attempting to drink his problems away.”

Bakura glared at him. Marik was really starting to piss him off now, but at the same time there was an excitement there too. It had been a while since one of their arguments had gotten this heated. “Did you reabsorb some of your darker self's personality? I think I would find him less insufferable at the moment!”

Marik just shook his head, exasperated. “And lashing out!”

Bakura all but jumped to his feet. “Stop acting like you're so high and mighty!”

Marik mirrored him, the table shaking under the force of him slamming his palms down on it. “I'm not! I'm making valid points, and if you would just get over yourself and stop getting so upset over nothing, you'd see that! Isn't that what you told me to do before, get over myself?”

They stared each other down across the table. It felt so familiar, neither of them willing to bow but, like always, Bakura was the one to yield first.

“Fine!” He said, sitting back down in his chair and teetering a bit. He wasn't so much angry now, in fact he couldn't even recall why they were arguing so viciously. This entire situation amused him in an odd way. “But tell me first, what was your dream about?”

Marik seemed caught off guard by the question. “What?”

“I'll admit to what's bothering me if you tell me your dream. Sound fair?” Bakura said, disarmingly civil. Marik eyed him suspiciously but deflated back into his seat.

“It was more of a memory,” Marik started. He hesitated for several long moments before continuing reluctantly. It must have been quite awful if he didn't want to divulge it to Bakura. “You were there. It was when you and I fought my dark half together, back in Battle City. Only we didn't return.”

Bakura's eyes widened a tiny fraction. “Oh.”

He recalled that duel all too easily, how Marik had begged for his help, and how badly they had failed.

“It... it's not a good memory.” Marik laughed nervously.

“I see.” Was all Bakura could say. Terse silence stretched on and soon enough he realized he would have to go next. He hesitated for a moment, but the alcohol seemed to move his tongue for him. “You. It's always you. I don't know what it is...”

He ground his teeth, not looking at Marik's face. He didn't care if his words didn't make sense. He hated even having to spit this out because he felt so helpless and lost, and his partnership with Marik was the only thing grounding him.

“But you're right, I...” He made a frustrated keen. He swore if Marik even thought of mocking him for this, he was going to make him sorry. “I don't want us to part ways.”

He sat there, seething irrationally for a few seconds. He wondered what Marik was thinking as they didn't share mindspace anymore, but he actually preferred it this way. It was much more fun trying to guess what the other was thinking, work out their game. That was how they played.

But he wasn't in much of a mood to play right now. He stood up again and circled the table, unsure of what he was going to do. Marik was also on his feet already. He'd already shared things more personal than he wanted to, how much lower could he sink at this point?

“You really don't understand how badly I want to punch you in the face for how much you're fucking me up over this,” Bakura uttered scathingly under his breath. But he didn't. He did something very different.

It would be a lie if he said he hadn't wondered what Marik's lips felt like and, now with his own pressed against them, he knew. It was forced and sloppy, the taste of liquor lingering between them, a pronounced sound of shock catching in Marik's throat. Bakura's palms held Marik's face steady as he tilted his head and dragged their lips together, once, twice – and then he snapped back to reality.

“I'm sorry,” he said, slightly breathless as he moved away, setting a hand on the wall to steady himself. What the hell was that? What the hell–

“I'm not.” He felt a hand grab him and pull him back. And then Bakura found himself with his back pressed against the wall, with Marik once again kissing him. His mind went blank. He couldn't remember how they'd arrived at this point, the only thing he could register is that it was happening, and that it felt _right._

They broke apart. Bakura felt dizzy and it wasn't because of the alcohol. Marik was giving him that same infuriatingly smug grin that he wore when he knew he had an advantage.

“I don't think I can watch you torture yourself any longer, fun as it is. You could consider it payback for interrupting me the other night. Or maybe I was just tired of dancing over the uncertainty. Who knows, really.” Marik said, Bakura taking a moment to process the words. Uncertainty. Uncertainty between them. Yes, how many other times had he wanted to punch Marik for being insufferable – and this is what he did when he finally acted on the urge?

But he just shook his head in denial though he knew it was pointless. Marik's smirk only grew.

“Come on, Bakura, I've seen the way you look at me. I _know_ you like me.”

Vanity. That was one of the first qualities Bakura had taken note about him, and it was certainly a quality he never lost. The thief would have rolled his eyes and shot back something smart, but he found himself alarmingly aware of the proximity between their bodies. The fact that they both weren't wearing much to begin with didn't help matters – Marik in a simple tank and nightpants, and Bakura in one of Ryou's old pair of loose-fitting shorts. The Thief King's clothing had been folded up and tucked away in favour of a more modern attire.

“You're a right fucking bastard.”

“And you're in no position to be throwing insults,” Marik shot back, lips finding Bakura's neck as he brought their bodies closer.

“I hate you,” Bakura gasped as Marik's hips thrust against him. It hit him all too hard that he'd never been touched like this before, and it was only amplified by the fact his body had only recently been brought back to life. Ryou's body had been a different experience when he controlled it; everything, touch, smell, taste, it all felt muted. But no such disconnect existed now.

“I'm sure you do.”

Marik pressed against his bare skin felt amazing. He wasn't wearing a shirt and he wanted to be wearing even less. He hissed when fingernails dug into his sides, reaching up to seize Marik's jaw and biting at his lower lip in return. A knee pushed between his legs, a pull at his hair, Marik forcing the thief's lips apart with his own and fucking his mouth with his tongue – it was all so good. Marik braced him against the wall, hands cupping his ass. Bakura groaned aloud and arched into him.

Gods, what had they been dancing around?

Somehow they found their way to the floor, Bakura's body rolling back against the hard wood none too gently and skidding a bit, which burned his skin. He didn't care, his legs were around Marik's waist and he didn't care about anything else. Marik ground down against him and he was hard already and – _Ra above, he wanted it._

Bakura's fingers brushed against Marik's shoulder blades, area's which the tank top didn't quite cover. He felt the wings of the scars on Marik's backside and his hands stilled. Marik froze as well, withdrawing a bit and staring ahead like he didn't know what to do. Bakura could see that the scars could be uncertain ground, but he didn't see the harm in testing the waters a bit.

“Show me them.”

Marik was silent for a few long moments, not taking his gaze off of Bakura's. And then he suddenly got off of him and stood up. For a moment Bakura thought he'd overstepped some boundary and pissed him off, but then he felt a hand grab his arm and pull him up, unceremoniously hauling him towards the room down the hall.

Bakura was cackling as Marik practically shoved him onto the guest room bed, climbing on after him and sitting on his knees before him. Marik shook his head at him.

“Jeez, if you're that drunk I'm not going any further.”

Bakura abruptly stopped laughing and looked at him. He wasn't sure what had been so funny. Maybe it was the fact that he was finally getting what he was promised so long ago, except the secrets of the carvings on Marik's back weren't much good now, were they?

“Fool, I'm hardly fucking _buzzed_.” Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true, but he definitely wasn't as drunk as Marik thought he was. In fact he felt startlingly aware, the blood pounding through his veins proof of that. “How about you? Don't think I didn't see you steal a few drinks.”

A grin cracked on Marik's face. “Had enough to climb in bed with you.”

He laughed when Bakura shoved him. “Oh fuck off, it was cheap shit anyway.”

Marik just smirked, but it faded as he reached down to the hem of his shirt. He hesitated for a moment before finally lifting the fabric and peeling it away from his body. Slowly, he faced away from Bakura, the thief sensing tension rolling off of him.

“I do owe this to you, I suppose,” Marik said quietly.

Bakura's eyes fell on the carvings, fascination overtaking any other feelings for the time being. They were beautifully horrid things, meticulously cut into the other's flesh – he could only imagine the pain Marik must have endured when they were still fresh. It made him angry too, knowing how Marik was essentially used as a scrap of paper for _his highness,_ the Pharaoh. He could understand Marik's hesitation, and part of him wondered why he'd revealed them to him so easily.

Bakura raised a hand, fingertips gently brushing against the hieroglyphics. He heard Marik inhale sharply, but when he made no indication of wanting him to stop, Bakura let his hand trail down his backside. He pressed his lips to Marik's shoulder, closing his eyes and sighing against him. He didn't miss the catch in the other's breath.

What was he doing? Making out was fine and dandy, but this was getting far too personal for his taste.

He drew back a bit to examine the carvings. He ran his fingers down Marik's spine, eliciting a shiver from him.

“I don't allow most people to see my scars, let alone touch them.” Marik spoke up suddenly. “You should feel honoured.”

Bakura's eyes flitted back up to the outline of Marik's profile. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“You'd think it was stupid.”

“Try me.”

“These carvings are something I've bore for a long time... there's a lot of history and secrecy and darkness behind them... but showing them almost feels like it takes away the power they've had over me all these years.” Marik explained. “I can't explain it, but it's liberating somehow.”

He smirked again, turning his body towards Bakura.

“Suppose I never quite kicked the habit of spitting in the face of tradition.”

Bakura made an approving hum. _That_ was a side of Marik he loved to see. “You shouldn't force yourself if it makes you uncomfortable though.”

Marik faced him completely, placing his hands on Bakura's shoulders and pushing him down onto the bed – Bakura taking the time to notice the muscles in his arms flex. “That's the thing, I'm not uncomfortable.”

His knees found either side of the thief's hips as he straddled him. Heat knotted in Bakura's stomach as Marik wasted no time sweeping down and smashing their lips together again. Bakura's hands ran down his front, passing his hips and grabbing at his ass. He wanted what they'd started before, grinding Marik down against him, but hands seized his wrists and forced them above his head. He could feel Marik grinning against his lips – _little brat_ – as he rocked against Bakura's clothed erection until the thief squirmed under him.

Marik was all about control after all, but Bakura was more than content to let him have it. He struggled half-heartedly more out of desire for Marik to _stop being such a fucking tease_ than to get free. The Thief King's body had muscle tone, but Marik was still stronger. Only when Bakura was panting heavily, his chest heaving against him, did he let him go.

Bakura shot him a lidded gaze that was both annoyed and lustful. Marik simply leered back at him, eyes dark and pupils dilated, before his mouth went to Bakura's neck. A hand crept lower on his body, teeth caught his earlobe – Bakura couldn't keep track of it all. The blood was rushing in his ears and his body felt unbearably hot even though they hadn't even been touching for very long. He could chalk it up to several factors; his body having only just been brought back to the land of the living, the alcohol, the fact that he...

A thought occurred to him.

“Marik,” he breathed as the other worked at pulling Ryou's shorts off his body, “have you ever...?”

Marik paused, looking a bit taken aback before he laughed. “Don't tell me you've never done this before, Bakura.”

Bakura huffed, turning his head away from him. “Don't look so pleased with yourself.”

Marik's teeth flashed in a grin as he leaned in close. Bakura regretted having said anything at all. “So, how many years have you been a virgin? Three thousand and...?”

“Shut up!” Bakura snapped back. If his face wasn't already flushed he suspected it would be darkening at that comment. “It's not something I was ever interested in!”

He wasn't an idiot, he knew what sex was. He'd existed as a millennia old spirit after all. However, it was one thing to have knowledge, it was another entirely to actually have done it. And he had other matters to worry about before.

“You seem interested now.”

Bakura wanted to slap him for that stupid look on his face.

“Oh, I'm sure you're just rolling around in people who want to fuck you. It certainly can't be for your personality. It's a good thing you're pretty because you're absolutely insuff-” The rest of what he was about to say was cut off as Marik kissed him again, and he was left merely grumbling against his lips.

Marik had succeeded in getting the shorts off him rather quickly and cast them off to the side, but he otherwise took his sweet time. Lips dragged down his collar bone, teasing at his chest. He gasped at the scrape of teeth against his nipple, but Marik didn't linger, his mouth moving lower still. Marik kissed along the sensitive space just beneath his naval, further adding to the anticipation clenching in his stomach.

“Will you just get on with it?” He groaned, impatient now, pushing at Marik's shoulders. Marik just smiled and took his wrists in his hands, gently prying them off.

Bakura's mouth dropped open as wetness met his tip. Marik grabbed the base of his cock, tongue laving at the head, before his lips closed over him. He was easily overwhelmed, wanting nothing more than to thrust up into that delicious heat, but Marik held his hips down so he could only take what was given to him.

He resisted the urge to whine – he knew Marik would never let it go – and bit back a deep moan. Focusing on the ceiling above, he tried to get a grip on himself, but the nerves of his revived body were alight. He felt Marik draw back slightly, running his tongue along the slit of his cock, and felt control slip further away. A contained noise escaped through his teeth. Marik was merciless, licking up the underside of his shaft before drawing him into his mouth again in one fluid movement.

“Mm!” He clamped his mouth shut. Marik laughed in his throat and the vibration felt so pleasant Bakura couldn't take it anymore and moaned to the open air.

_Damn you._

He risked a glance down, feeling himself grow more aroused at the sight of Marik sucking him off. He managed a smirk himself, thinking it was a good look for the bastard in the midst of his hazy consciousness.

He rolled his head back against the bedspread as Marik took him deeper. It was torturous because he couldn't move. Bakura felt pressure coiling in his belly with each stroke Marik gave, but the pace wasn't enough and Marik knew it too. He was drawing it out for as long as possible.

And just as he was about to tip over the edge, Marik pulled off of him. A cry of frustration seeped from Bakura's lips. When he looked back to the other male, he was surprised to find him almost as flushed as he'd become. Marik's breathing was unsteady, his eyes dark with need. Bakura blinked as he noticed a hardness pressed against him where Marik was straddling one of his thighs.

“Can I fuck you, Bakura?” Marik leaned in, the blunt way he said it making the thief shiver a bit.

“Thought that... was the plan,” he replied breathlessly. He thought about how he wanted Marik to put his mouth back to work on his cock instead of using it to ask him stupid questions.

That same shitty grin cracked on Marik's face, but it betrayed something more nervous and rueful this time. “Haven't actually gone that far before.”

Bakura slapped a hand against his forehead and dragged it down his face.

How typical. And Marik had made fun of him before for inexperience. Bakura would have shot back something smart, but he found that words were rather beyond him at the moment. He merely grunted in response, smirking despite himself as Marik fumbled for something at the bedside table.

...

Marik had always figured there was something between them, even back in Battle City, but it had gone unexplored due to them operating under the basis of them strictly being a partnership. Simply a means to reach their respective goals.

The Rod had given him insight into the human psyche. He knew interest when he saw it, and an undercurrent always ran between them, even if he hadn't expected it to take the turn it did now.

There was no goal, there was no direction. All that was left was them and all the time in the world to work out whatever remained.

The lubricant was cool on his fingers as he pressed one to Bakura's entrance, massaging at the flesh as he did so. Bakura trembled slightly, blowing a small puff of air out of his nose, but otherwise made no signs of discomfort as the digit sank into him. Marik knew he was perfectly capable of handling it, so he added a second finger and slowly began pumping them in and out of his body. His other hand ran up Bakura's thigh before encircling his cock again and giving him a few leisurely strokes.

It was fascinating watching the subtle reactions Bakura gave. His eyes were closed, lashes fluttering and lips parted silently. Every so often a tiny moan would escape when Marik's fingers moved just so inside him. Marik licked his lips, something about the state he'd reduced the other male to making his own breathing quicken. He curled his fingers a little more, the enraptured sound Bakura made shooting straight to his own erection.

He wouldn't show it but he was anxious himself, the only outward sign being that his hands held a slight tremor as he briefly withdrew them from the body beneath him. During his time running the Ghouls, he'd had a few flings of his own. Brief, purely physical, no attachments whatsoever. Beyond that, he'd never been with anyone after Battle City. He didn't think he _could_ be with anyone, but this was the exception. He had no words to convey how much he wanted the other male.

He kicked off his nightpants, coating himself in the lube and then shifted Bakura's legs further apart, heart pounding in his throat. Hesitating for a moment as he thought of the best way to do this, he finally settled for lifting one of Bakura's legs against his shoulder with the other loose around his waist.

Marik pushed into him, exhaling a choked noise as he did so. Bakura was so warm inside, and he wasn't even all the way in yet. It was a gradual process, but it became easier once Bakura relaxed and the heat engulfed him.

“Oh, gods...” was all he could say.

Bakura groaned as well, but it held an edge of pain. Marik ran his free hand over the thief's stomach as he gave him several moments to adjust. It wasn't until he felt a small kick at his backside did he realize he'd been distracted by the sensation himself and that the other male wanted him to _move._

Just being inside him was something, actually _fucking_ him was another. Bakura wasn't so proud as to stifle his own cries; he'd already broken earlier, there was no point of making a show of restraint now. As Marik began to set a steady pace, the thief had stopped biting his lip and his mouth hung open as he clenched at the bedsheets. White hair spilled out around him, not quite as long as when he'd worn Ryou's likeness, but still holding that same silky quality. Between the contrast of his dark skin, the scar on his face that defined his rugged appearance, and the way he practically sung as Marik began pounding into him in earnest, the former tomb keeper couldn't help thinking that he really was quite beautiful.

Marik closed his eyes and tipped his head back, beginning to lose himself in the tightness clenched around his cock. The fingernails of the hand holding Bakura's leg against him dug into his thigh and the thief growled, but not in displeasure. Pain never seemed to bother Bakura, in fact in small increments it seemed to give him a thrill. The corners of Marik's lips turned up as he realized how well this worked for them. It wasn't that he wanted to hurt Bakura, he just wasn't interested in being gentle either.

Sweat matting at his brow, Marik lifted Bakura's other leg from under the knee. He pushed both of Bakura's thighs back towards the thief's chest and spread them further, deepening the angle he was driving into him at. The sight of Bakura with his head thrown back, unable to even manage swearing with his mouth agape and his eyes unfocused made him lick his lips. He'd say he'd found a good position.

He could feel Bakura was getting close; his breathing had become erratic, hips jerking up to meet Marik's unevenly. He saw Bakura reach for his own cock, but Marik intercepted to grip him instead. He dropped Bakura's legs, urging him to wrap both around his waist now as he pumped the thief in time with his pace. Bakura threw him a questioning and irritated look that said _'I can do it myself'_ , but it dissolved as he thrust into Marik's closed fist, still slick with the lube.

A loud cry tore itself from Bakura's throat and a deep shudder ran through him. He squeezed around Marik's as he climaxed, legs crushing the other male to him as he spilled over his hand. The pressure around his cock almost caused Marik to release as well, but he thought himself to have more restraint than that. Bakura's body went lax, even though Marik wasn't through just yet.

And then Bakura reached up and grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him down and thrusting his tongue into Marik's mouth like Marik was thrusting into him. That did it for him. The former tomb keeper moaned, eyes rolling back behind closed lids as the heat of orgasm swept over him. He kissed Bakura deeply through it, lazily thrusting until he was spent. One of the most blissful sighs he'd ever let out fell from his lips, as he finally pulled out and rolled over to lay on his back beside the thief.

The room fell silent aside from the sound of their breathing evening out. Marik was perfectly content, a pleasant tired feeling settling in his muscles, despite the fact that one or both of them may end up regretting what they just did in the morning. For now he just didn't care. He'd spent so much time monitoring his own behaviour, making sure he was on the right track no matter what he did, making sure he was reformed in the eyes of the public. It felt good to let go.

And he felt like he could do so around Bakura.

He wrinkled his nose at how sentimental this was getting. After a few minutes, he finally propped himself up on his elbows and glanced to the body beside him. He thought Bakura may have fallen asleep already – he seemed like he was getting a bit overworked in his new body – but when he looked over the thief's eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“I don't do that cuddling shit,” Bakura muttered, eyes shifting to Marik when he noticed him staring. “You reek anyway.”

Marik snorted, looking down at his own sweat-slick body, and then to the mess still coating his hand and Bakura's stomach. He grimaced.“Yeah, you don't smell so great yourself.”

It didn't seem like Bakura was willing to move at all so he went to grab a towel for him, quickly rinsing himself off in the process. He cringed remembering that this _was_ Ryou's house. Well, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him...

Fifteen minutes later they lay on the bed attempting to fall asleep again but, despite how relaxed he was, Marik just couldn't. He tossed and turned a little bit before settling on his back with his arms behind his head, his eyes open. It was like a switch had been turned on in his mind, he couldn't stop thinking, not even about one thing in particular, just thinking.

Bakura had his back to him. He was so still that Marik thought he'd passed out, but his voice cut through the air out of nowhere.

“It's all so disgustingly mortal, isn't it?”

Marik got an idea of his train of thought. After all, he'd been thinking things along the same lines. The corners of his mouth turned up empathetically. “Living? Or are you talking about the sex?”

“I never thought I'd get this far, and now I have no where to go.”

Marik's smile faded. Bakura hadn't spoken the words with sadness, but his tone was flat, like he didn't know how to deal with the fact. He sounded lost.

“I guess we're in the same boat.” Marik closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “We're not fighting anyone, we're not being chased by some destiny. We're free to do whatever we want. All the possibilities in the world and none at all... It's overwhelming, it's too much to think about.”

Bakura fell silent again, and then he rolled onto his back. He lifted a hand before himself and splayed his fingers apart. “I'm really alive again, aren't I...?”

Marik looked at him. He wondered if Bakura had ever even lived to begin with. Everything was taken from him at a young age and he'd been consumed by revenge ever since like it was his lifeblood. He saw the similarities between the two of them. Living underground himself, he may as well have been dead to begin with. The main difference between them was that he'd only been chasing vengeance for several years, Bakura's vendetta had spanned over _millennia._

All that was left was to pick up the shattered pieces that remained.

“At least I have one thing the Pharaoh never did,” a tired, yet vindictive expression came over Bakura's face, “a chance at a full life.”

“You're hopeless.” Marik laughed softly. Though if living his life out of spite for the Pharaoh kept Bakura from losing his mind, so be it. “But it's true. I suppose that counts as a victory in itself.”

Bakura turned to him, as though something had just occurred to him. Marik was surprised by the sudden intensity on his face.

“Marik,” he said, “there's one more thing I need to do.”

“What is it?” Marik turned onto his side attentively.

“I'll tell you in the morning, but...” Bakura paused, “I'll take up your offer as well.”

Marik took a moment to process this, then he smiled again. He reached out a hand, palm resting against Bakura's cheek, thumb running over the scar marring his face. Bakura frowned.

“I thought I told you I don't do–”

His protest died as Marik leaned forward to kiss him again. The thief rolled onto his back as the former tomb keeper slid over top of him, their mouths still connected. Fingers continued to run over the scars either had collected on their bodies, drawing forth soft sighs of contentment.

Any sort of bad dream still kicking around in his psyche couldn't seem to find Marik for the rest of that night.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, reached the epilogue already. I don't think I did too badly for a first thiefshipping fic but I hope to do another multi-chap with them in the future. This isn't really 'the end', it's more like the beginning for my post-canon verse with them. I've been writing a bunch of other oneshots that can go with this fic in the Post Canon Thiefshipping Oneshots series, though most can be read separately. Anyways, thanks for reading!

The sun beat down overhead, the rolling sands of the desert pushed along by the wind carrying with it a vague and old scent of death. The warm air caressed his skin, but he couldn't help but shiver.

Marik stood several paces behind Bakura, who was crouched on one of the stone roofs with his back turned to him. He looked outwards, seemingly listening for something. This place had an atmosphere that was unsettling and made him want to leave immediately, but Marik knew Bakura needed this so he merely waited for an undetermined amount of time.

“When I was younger I would sit here and listen to the spirits of my village,” Bakura said, voice cutting through the silence. His tone was flat, neither angry nor contemptuous. “They were bound to this place, so I stayed too. It brought me comfort, and it fed my hatred for the kingdom.”

Marik looked at the ground, wondering if this was painful for the thief. He felt an urge to walk over and check on him but he knew Bakura wouldn't like that, so he merely stood in soundless acknowledgement.

“There's nothing but silence now.” Bakura reached down and scooped his hand into the sand that had collected on the stone, letting it slip between his fingers, carried away by the wind. “I know they've passed on since the door to the afterlife was opened, but I had to see for myself.”

He abruptly stood up and turned his back to his former home, passing Marik as he began to walk back up the trail. “That's all. I'm done here.”

He didn't look back once.

Marik remained there for a moment longer, taking in the ruined village one last time, and then he moved to follow him. Bakura deserved closure just as much as the rest of them had, and he hoped the thief had found it.

They travelled in silence back to the road that cut through the middle of nowhere, where Marik's motorcycle lay waiting.

“Where do you want to go now?” Marik finally asked as they reached the bike.

“Anywhere.” Bakura answered. “Anywhere away from this wretched land. I don't want it in my sight for one more second.”

“For once I agree with you.” Marik tossed his helmet to him, then went to put on his own.

“Although...” A devious look that could only mean trouble crossed Bakura's face. “I think a certain Pharaoh’s tomb has gone untouched for far too long...”

“ _No,”_ Marik shook his head, but he was smirking at the notion of it, “Bakura, oh my _god_.”

“Don't say you haven't thought about doing it before.”

“You're a terrible influence, you know.”

Bakura grinned at him. “We can't all be perfect, Ishtar.”

“As if that hasn't been proven time and time again...” Marik leaned on the seat of his bike. “Tell you what, I'll _formally_ introduce you to the inner workings of the Pharaoh’s tomb if you promise to wipe that smug look off your face.”

He had the feeling Bakura was joking – he himself wasn't really being serious. It was just a bit of sporting humour between them, perhaps as a way of coping. The thought of descending into a dead guy's tomb and messing with his wares was more repulsive than tantalizing. Neither of them wanted anything more to do with the Pharaoh. It was time to move out of the shadows and into the light.

Marik straddled the seat of his bike, gesturing at the space behind him.“Now, are you going to stand there all day?”

Bakura moved to comply, but the grin never left his face. “Fine. It's a deal then.”

 


End file.
